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ART, 



SCENERY AND PHILOSOPHY 



IN EUKOPE. 



BEING FRAGMENTS FROM THE PORT-FOLIO 



OP THE LATE 

HORACE BXNNEY WALLACE, Esquire, 



OF PHILADELPHIA. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED BY HERMAN HOOKER, 
S. W. COR. CHESTNUT AND EIGHTH STS. 
^1855. 






Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1854, in the 
Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States, in and 
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 






PRINTED BY ISAAC ASIIMEAD. 



" HORACE BINNEY WALLACE, or Philadelphia, is 

A SON OF THE LATE JOHN B. WALLACE, AND NEPHEW OF Mr. 
Binney. He IS A YOUNG MAN OF AS MUCH ABILITY AND POWER 
AS ANY I KNOW. HlS FATHER WAS ONE OF MY BEST, WARMEST, 
TRUEST FRIENDS. He DIED EIGHT OR NINE YEARS AGO. I HAYE 
CULTIVATED THE ACQUAINTANCE OF THIS SON, AND IF I HAD THE 
POWER I WOULD MOST CHEERFULLY BRING HIM INTO PUBLIC SER- 
VICE." 

Letter of Daniel Webster to Hiram Ketcham, of 
New York, February 22, 1849. 



"Tell Mr. H. B. "Wallace I am proud of his praise. 
He is one of the few in this our day and generation, 
who can appreciate the solution of a black letter ques- 
TION." 

Letter of Chief Justice Gibson, of Pennsylvania, July 7, 1851. 



" In concluding this Preface, I cannot help deploring the 
misfortune which has recently deprived me of an eminent dis- 
ciple — one destined, without doubt, to have become one of the 
chief pillars of Positivism. When mentioning, in the Preface 
to the second volume of this work, that a distinguished citizen 
of Philadelphia had given in his adhesion to my principles, I 
little foresaw that I should so soon have to lament the loss of 
Wallace at the early age of thirty-five. 

" Though our personal intercourse was limited to three 
interviews, with intervals of correspondence as short as pre- 
cious, I yet knew him well enough to be entitled to judge of 
the loss which Humanity has sustained in his death. In him 
heart, intellect, and character united in so rare combination 
and harmony, that he would have aided powerfully in advanc- 
ing the difficult transition through which the nineteenth cen- 
tury has to pass. Pree from all affectation, his culture, both 
sesthetical and scientific, was in perfect harmony with his fine 
organization. Although he gave his youth, in part, to literary 
efforts, his spontaneous and free communications to me autho- 
rize the belief that he would have distinguished himself in 
active life in a country where the noble citizen is greater even 
than the officer of state. I do not exaggerate his merits in 
ranking him as the equal of the greatest American states- 
men." — Auguste Comte. Pref. {translated by Rev. J. M'Clin- 
tock, D. D.,) to Systeme de Politique Positive. Paris, 1853. 



CONTENTS. 



Memoir, - - - - - - vii 

Obituary Notices, - - - ' - - xxiii 

Essays. 

Art, an Emanation of Religious Affection, - 13 

Art, Symbolical, not Imitative, - - - 37 

The Law of the Development of Gothic Architecture, - 59 

The Principle of Beauty in Works of Art, - 79 

Cathedrals of the Continent. 

Eheims Cathedral, - - - - 87 

Bourges Cathedral, - - - 95 

Rouen Cathedral, - 101 

Church of St. Ouen, - - - - - ib. 

Cathedral of Amiens, ----- 104 

Cathedral of Tours, ----- 106 

Strasbourg Cathedral, ----- m 

Friburg Cathedral, - - - - - 118 

Ratisbon, or Regensburgh Cathedral, - - 126 

Cathedral of Magdeburg, - - - - 128 

Bamberg Cathedral, ----- 130 

Cathedral of Ulm, - - 133 

St. Stephen's at Vienna, - - - - 134 

Milan Cathedral, - - - - - 137 

St. Peter's, Rome, - - - - - 142 

a2 



VI CONTENTS. 

Journal. 

Visit to Netley Abbey, ----- 155 

Notes of a Tour in Switzerland, - 167 

The Eoman Forum, ----- 227 

Ascent of Vesuvius, ----- 237 

Kemarks upon Painters. 

Michael Angelo, ------ 243 

Leonardo da Vinci, ----- 258 

Fra Bartolommeo, ----- 269 

Perugino, ------ 283 

Eafael, - - - - - . - 303 

Comte's Philosophy, - - - - 331 



MEMOIR. 



The family of "Wallace, to which the author of these wri- 
tings belonged, has been resident, for the last century and 
more, with some temporary interruptions, in the city of Phila- 
delphia. It comes immediately from Scotland, where, in the 
shires of Mid-Lothian and Tweed-dale, it had, prior to the arri- 
val of its American progenitor, John Wallace, at Newport, 
R. I., in 1742, been settled in competence, and with a reputa- 
tion for scholarship, refinement and worth. Mr. Burke, in his 
" Visitation. of Seats and Arms of Great Britain," and in other 
books, mentions it with respect, and states it to be a scion of 
the house of Ellerslie : and he speaks of its immediate de- 
scent, sufficiently known in Scotland, from Robert Bruce, in 
one line, and from the great rival, in England, of Robert 
Bruce, in another. 

The immediate parentage of the subject of our notice will 
be remembered by those persons who yet survive, and had the 
privilege of intercourse with the polite society of Philadelphia 
in the earliest part of this century. In this select association 
of men and women, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, then among its 
younger portion, were eminent for all that gives value or 
weight to social character ; for intellectual superiority quite 
commanding ; for remarkable personal attraction ; for high 
accomplishment, both of mind and manners ; and yet more 
for those moral graces, the crowning beauty of them all, 
which spring and are nurtured only in the influence and at- 
mosphere of that honor and religion in which it had been the 
happiness of both of them to have been born and early reared. 



Vlll MEMOIR. 

Indeed, almost all the qualities of mind and character which 
marked the subject of our notice — his strong logical powers, 
and those finer perceptions which are denominated "genius," 
were very much inherited ; and the son seemed only to unite, 
with, perhaps, somewhat greater facility and extent of aesthe- 
tic development, gifts and powers not less remarkable than 
his own, which existed, somewhat separately, in his respec- 
tive parents. His pervading, and exquisite, and indestruc- 
tible refinement might have been well inherited, too, had it 
not been so apparently inherent that we may admit it to have 
been all his ow.i. 

Horace Binney Wallace, the youngest son of John Brad- 
ford and Susan Wallace, was born on Wednesday, the 26th 
day of February, 1817, at the respectable mansion, his paren- 
tal residence, No. 88, South Fourth street, Philadelphia. He 
was baptized in St. Peter's church, in that city, on Ascension 
day, the 24th of April, 1817, by the Bight Beverend William 
White, First Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in 
the diocese of Pennsylvania ; and, from the gifted and respect- 
able successor of Bishop White, he received, at a subsequent 
day, in Christ Church, Philadelphia, the sacred rite of confir- 
mation. His baptismal name was derived from his maternal 
uncle, who was his sponsor in baptism. 

His childhood was distinguished by a fine constitution and 
good health. From their earliest manifestations, his disposi- 
tions are recalled as having been somewhat individual and 
reclusive ; never otherwise, however, than as fond and amia- 
ble, and, when finely touched, as exhibiting themselves in the 
finest issues of innocence and feeling. The comfortable resi- 
dence of his paternal grand-parents and of his relative, Mrs. 
Bradford, at Burlington, in New Jersey,* caused much of his 
childhood to be passed at that place, then distinguished beyond 
any village of our country for a lovely sequestration and re- 

* This lady, who survives at the age of 90, is the widow of the Hon. 
William Bradford, one of the most pure and exalted characters of his 
time. He died at tho age of 39, being then Attorney General of the 
United States under the presidency of Washington. 



MEMOIR. IX 

pose, and for an ancient gentility which has long since been 
detruded by the advances of later times. As a child, he exhi- 
bited quick sensibility to those beauties of nature, which 
showed themselves so strongly in his subsequent tastes. Flow- 
ers, plants, trees, the lawn and wood, and fields, and every kind 
of gardening and every kind of culture, seemed to engage his 
childish fancy. The traces of these dispositions yet linger on 
those estates. These tastes never indeed, forsook him ; and, 
though his writings nowhere, perhaps, show this fact, it was 
known to the few persons more nearly about him, that, in later 
years, Botany had occupied a portion of his time and successful 
studies. The various fruits of Alpine vegetation, at its loftiest 
range, were the subject of careful collections, during his tour in 
Switzerland. Indeed, much of the botany of Europe had been 
the subject of intelligent preservation, with a view to a future 
arrangement ; in which, undoubtedly, taste and classic or ro- 
mantic memory would have lent an interest superior to the 
details of the botanic herbal. His first school was in the vil- 
lage of which we have spoken, with a venerable woman of the 
name of Patton ; but from his accomplished parents, whose 
summer residence was also here, he received, no doubt, his 
best instruction, as well in letters as in all other excellent 
training, which would be inferred by those who knew either 
them or him. 

Large interests of his father, in landed concerns, in Western 
Pennsylvania, which required a constant and professional su- 
pervision, took the family of Mr. Wallace, in 1822, to Mead- 
ville, a small town in Crawford county, in Western Pennsyl- 
vania. It was a region and a scene, quite unlike anything 
which they had ever known before. The track of the Indian 
was then scarcely obliterated, and the primeval forests still 
skirted the streets of the town. Such a place offered, of course, 
at that time, no instruction beyond what was common to the 
humble, villages of our uncultivated West. In his father's 
study, and chiefly under the supervision of that accomplished 
gentleman, this son pursued the whole circle of his studies, with 
such care and constancy, and under such enlightened tutorage 
and instruction as all other nations but our own have the wisdom 



X MEMOIR. 

to perceive, can alone secure the spirit and attainments which 
fit men for liberal enjoyments, or for liberal pursuits. Among 
his tutors was the late Rev. William Lucas, a distinguished 
graduate of Trinity College, Dublin ; and afterwards known 
as an able and accomplished divine of the Protestant Episco- 
pal Church in the Diocese of New York. His early death 
alone prevented a higher and more extensive distinction. 

Educated, himself, after the old English fashion of Oxford 
and Eton, in the Greek and Roman Classics, with all that 
marks the English system, Mr. Wallace, the father, — while he 
postponed no sort of polite learning in its proper place, and 
for Geography and Mathematics had been himself distin- 
guished, — was intimately convinced that the inexhaustible 
source of liberal inspirations is to be drawn from the institu- 
tions and authors of Greece and Rome. Those countries, there- 
fore, and the classics which belong to them, were the constant 
subject of his prelections with his son; and, during several 
years, in which he was retained in a region but little kindred 
to his tastes or character, this high-bred and elegant gentle- 
man was exercising himself with his son, by day and by night, 
in studies of this kind ; and, while winning the sensibilities of 
taste and genius by presenting the beauties of the classics, 
was illustrating their local, their mythic and philologic inter- 
est in associated study of the writings of d'Anville and Bar- 
thelemy, the antiquities of Adams and Potter, the Pantheons 
of Tooke and Bell, the rules of Alvarez and the Port Royal, 
the Dissertations of Bentley and Burman, and the Commenta- 
tors for the Dauphin prince. The structure, the characteristics, 
and the charms of the Greek and Roman poetic mind were il- 
lustrated and compared with the pastoral and lyric inspira- 
tions of the Hebrew harpists, and the odes of the British bards. 
Lowth and Home were not less familiar books than the au- 
thors of Bentley and Porson, nor the Pollio, the Olympics, 
Pythians, Nemeans and Isthmians, of more constant recita- 
tion than the Vision of Isaiah, the Messiah of Pope, and the 
splendid Odes of Gray. Meeting with an apprehension full 
of genius and intellect, it is not surprising that instructions 
like these should have given to the subject of our Memoir that 



MEMOIR. .xi 

early distinction in classical taste and learning with which his 
mind seemed ever after imbued, and which, in after life, made 
literature and art, every where, and of every sort, subjects, 
not so much of a novel study as of enlightened observation, 
and of the highest, most elegant and thoughtful refreshment 
and delight. He had been liberally trained. In the bright 
tempers, uncommon endowments, and patient labors of his ac- 
complished and pious parents, and in the pervading atmosphere 
of mental and social refinement which surrounded his child- 
hood, the subject of our Memoir justly reckoned that he had 
been singularly blessed. 

Before entering any college, Mr. Wallace had attracted at- 
tention from one of his tutors, a gentleman educated at the 
Military Academy of West Point, for uncommonn capacity in 
the higher mathematics. To the system, as taught by the mo- 
dern French and German writers — to every form of Algebraic 
process — he seemed to take as by an instinctive attraction. 
Euler, Legendre, The Cambridge Mathematics, and La Place, 
had been the subjects of delightful pursuit at Meadville, and 
before he had accomplished his 15th year. At the age we 
have mentioned, he was matriculated at the University of 
Pennsylvania, to which institution he was sent, probably, from 
its being at that time under the provostship of the Eev. Dr. 
William Heathcoate De Lancy, now Bishop of the Protestant 
Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Western New York. At 
this University, his ability in mathematical resolutions attracted 
particular attention from the eminent person who at that time 
held the chair of the mathematical professorship,* and who 
frequently spoke with delight both of the modesty and genius 
exhibited in some of his pupiPs solutions in the integral and 
differential calculus; a branch of mathematical pursuit in 
which no distance of time or intermission of study, lessened 
either Mr. Wallace's relish or ability. In this, as in other de- 
partments of mathematics, he appeared to possess a capacity 
for resolving every thing into general formula ; an indication, 
undoubtedly, of one of the high orders of genius. His studies, 

* The venerable Robert Adrian, LL.D. 



Xll MEMOIR. 

while at this college, were not other than the best in other 
departments also ; but, having left it in the junior year, they 
gave, from their nature, less room for the manifestation of any 
thing but diligence. He rose rapidly to the head of his class. 
A gentleman, who has since attained, deservedly, a high emi- 
nence in the sacred profession, and who was educated in a 
class below him,* has recalled his college character as that of 
"one who was held to dwell apart in a world of higher thoughts 
than those which usually occupy young men of his age." Cer- 
tainly he avoided the ordinary error of young men, that of 
having a numerous or promiscuous acquaintance ; nor, while 
eminently engaging and social in his powers, were his habits 
at any time those of loose associations or extreme intimacies. 
After passing two years at this University, and before its se- 
nior year began, he was transferred to Princeton College, in 
New Jersey, at which venerable seat of learning his father 
had been educated, and for which, in common with its earlier 
pupils, who included within their number many of the most 
eminent men of the generation now passed, he always retained 
an affectionate regard. 

At this seminary, Mr. Horace B. Wallace seems to have very 
much withdrawn himself from all that could distract his 
thoughts or squander his time : and to have devoted his days 
and nights to studies more ardent and persevering than he 
ever subsequently followed, though at all times a studious 
man. He paid little regard to the college hours, or rules, or 
exercises ; but his irregularities, in this respect, were so free 
from every kind of moral departure, and were accompanied 
by such superior proficiency, when he did appear, in every de- 
partment of his studies, that the faculty passed it by without 
censure and without anxiety : though not without the expres- 
sion of regret, for its disturbance of the college discipline. 
Having been graduated in 1835, at this college, he returned to 
Philadelphia, in which place his mother had resumed a resi- 
dence ; and, inclining to the study of medicine, was entered 

* The Rev. John M'Clintock, D.D., President of Dickenson College, 
Carlisle, Pennsylvania. 



MEMOIR. Xlll 

as a student in the office of Thomas Harris, M.D., then an ex- 
tensive practitioner in that city, and since more 'generally 
known as the head of the Medical Bureau of the United States, 
at Washington. Matriculating in the Medical Department of 
the University of Pennsylvania, he followed, for a term, the 
lectures of Professors Horner, Chapman, Hare and the other 
eminent persons who then held the seats of that institution. 
The more scientific parts of medicine, the laws of biology, 
and of medical chemistry, were not unattractive to him ; but 
the exhibitions of the operating and dissecting rooms, discou- 
raged his inclination for the practice of surgery and medicine 
generally. 

Though thus abandoning the pursuit, in view of its prac- 
tice, he was induced, by long standing relations of personal 
and family intimacy with the Professor of Chemistry, Dr. 
Robert Hare, to continue this science as a special study ; and 
he placed himself under the instructions of that eminent and 
now venerable gentleman, in personal connection with whom, 
he pursued, in close applications through several months, the - 
investigations of the laboratory. Though there were not 
wanting evidences of a fine mind in pursuits strictly chemical, 
it was in their aspects, as connected or developed by mathemati- 
cal science that Mr. Wallace's abilities were remarked to be 
superior. Professor Hare was, at this time, engaged in a se- 
ries of mechanical experiments, testing. the validity of certain 
electric theories, equally difficult and recondite. Leaving the 
experimental or inductive part of the subject to his venerable 
guide, Wallace tested the whole matter with the certainty of 
science purely abstract, in extensive and elaborate sheets of 
algebraic demonstrations. He remained till the winter of 1836 
in the pursuit of these studies, when his father, who had been 
for some time representing the County of Crawford, in the 
Legislature of Pennsylvania, having permanently resumed 
his abode in Philadelphia, his son began, under his instruc- 
tion, the study for which his mind was perhaps as well fitted 
as for any of the sciences experimental merely. Under his 
father's care, he studied law in that systematic and thorough 
way which marks the best school of professional training. 
B 



XIV MEMOIR. 

He laid his foundations deep in the learning of tenures and 
estates, and brought around and upon them, in their proper 
relation and place, the subjects which belong to them in origi- 
nal or later — in derived or collateral relations. The fruits of 
this excellent mode were apparent in after life, in the confi- 
dence and ease with which he penned every legal essay or 
opinion that he wrote ; and to it, in its influence upon a fine 
understanding, may be attributed the grounds of the eulogy 
which one part of his professional writings has received from 
the highest legal authority at the bar in this country; that 
" there is not a note or remark in the 'ijhole body that does not 
show the mind of a lawyer, imbued with the spirit of the science, 
instinctly perceiving and observing all its limitations, its har- 
monies, its modulations, its discords, as a cultivated musical 
ear perceives, without an effort, what is congruous or incon- 
gruous with the harmonies of sound :" and that " they mani- 
fest the true distinction between a lawyer and a random spec- 
ulator upon law." 

The death of his father, in January, 1837, transferred Mr. 
Wallace to the office of the late Charles Chauncey, Esq., from 
the care of which amiable and excellent gentleman he was 
received in the spring of 1840, a member of the Bar of Phi- 
ladelphia.* 

• The correspondence on this subject, between Mr. "Wallace's mo- 
ther and his preceptor, deserves preservation as a beautiful illustration 
of the courtly and dignified friendship of a generation now past. 

To Charles Chauncey, Esq. 

No. 7, Portico Square, Spruce street, April 8, 1840. 
My dear Sir, 

I am sure that you take the interest of a faithful friend in the ad- 
mission of my son Horace to the duties of professional life; and that 
you will appreciate the warmth and sincerity with which both he and 
his mother consider your valuable instrumentality towards this impor- 
tant end. Believe me, very dear sir, you cannot over-rate our sense of 
your services and influence. 

May the youth who has been favored by your superintending care 
and instruction, prove worthy of his father's friend ! 






MEMOIR. XV 

Mr. Wallace was never much inclined to engage in what is 
called the Practice of the Law. In the labors of the office he 
early distinguished himself. His annotations upon Smith's 
Leading Cases, published at the age of 27 ; upon the Equity- 
Leading Cases of White and Tudor, and his editorship with his 
friend the Hon. J. I. C. Hare, of the American Leading Cases, 
established his reputation over the United States as a first rate 
legal writer. It is believed that no books of late times have 
received so extensive and so unsolicited commendation from 
the highest courts of nearly every State in the American 

Accept the enclosed — a very slight token, indeed, of my lasting gra- 
titude and respect, — and believe me ever, most truly, 

Your obliged friend and servant, 

SUSAN WALLACE. 



To Mrs. Susan Wallace. 

Walnut Street, April 10, 1840. 
My dear Madam, 

I received your very kind note of the 8th, and have read it with the 
truest gratification. I feel a sincere and deep interest in the welfare 
and happiness of yourself and your children; and I rejoice, with all 
the fidelity of friendship, in the admission of your son Horace to the 
Bar. I believe that your son is destined, if it should please God to 
spare his life, to be eminent and useful ; and that, if your life is con- 
tinued, which I pray it may long be, you will have the satisfaction of 
seeing the fruits of the excellent principles and sound instruction with 
which he has been so faithfully imbued by his affectionate parents. 

It is a source of great happiness to have had the care of your son 
for a short time, and to have been, even in a slight degree, instrumen- 
tal in preparing him for entrance on professional duty. May I be per- 
mitted to say, that it would materially ^educt from this happiness, 
were I to retain the token of your kindness, which came enclosed in 
your Note ; and, may I add, that you could not gratify me more than 
by permitting me to return it ? 

With the highest respect and esteem, 
I am, madam, 

Your assured friend, 

CH. CHAUNCEY. 
Mrs. Wallace. 



XVI MEMOIR. 

Union: and their reputation increases, as it is likely to do the 
more widely they are known. Though engaged in this manner 
in laborious professional employment, much the largest part 
of Mr. "Wallace's time was given to literary composition. He 
began to write for publication at the age of 17, and perhaps 
never wrote better than he did at the age of 21. His writings, 
except in the law, were always anonymous, or under pseudo- 
nymes, and in the publication of them he had, generally, no 
confidant. Their subjects are extremely diversified, and their 
variety and extent almost incredible ; including, largely, mat- 
ters of military science. If all of them were collected, which 
they cannot now be, it is supposed that with his correspon- 
dence, they would fill not less than sixteen volumes of the 
present size. His abilities in this way — though not his name — 
were early discovered .by more than one person connected 
with the literary press ; among them, by the Rev. Rufus Wil- 
mot Griswold, to whom this country is indebted for those 
tasteful selections and criticisms which, in his Prose Writers 
and Poets of America, have done so much to render the gene- 
ral literary character of our country respected in Europe, and 
to inspire proper confidence in it at home. Recognizing, in 
this case, the unquestionable marks of genius, as yet fresh 
and unknown to the country, Dr. Griswold was at pains to 
ascertain the true source from which the writings he had 
noted, came ; and discovering by a literary accident the name 
and residence of their author, invited an acquaintance with 
him in the honorable purpose of asking his allowance to give 
publicity and reputation to his name, by introducing it with 
portions of his writings in " The Prose Writers of America," 
just then about to appear. Mr. Wallace declined this offer in 
a manner which so impressed the author of it with his modesty 
and independence that he determined at any rate to inscribe 
the volume to his gifted acquaintance. The dedication as 
originally printed is now before us. The types were set and 
the form ready to be worked off, when Mr. Wallace intreated 
as a special favor its cancellation. The book finally appeared 
with the simplest inscription possible, instead of one in the 



MEMOIR. XV11 

flattering terms in which the author was about to present it, 
thus 



HORACE B I N N E Y WALLACE, 

OF PHILADELPHIA. 

Witosz &bfittfes, Hearnftifl, anfc honorable Character 

GIVE ASSURANCE THAT 

THE NEW GENERATION 

WILL PROVE ITSELF NOT INFERIOR TO THE OLD, 
THIS VOLUME, 

SINCE HIS MODESTY IN PUBLISHING HIS WRITINGS ANONYMOUSLY HAS 

PREVENTED ME FROM TESTIFYING IN ANOTHER PART OF IT 

MY ESTIMATION OF HIS MERITS, 

IS VERY RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 

After the death of his mother on the 9th July, 1849, Mr. 
Wallace resolved to pass some time in Europe, and embarking 
in April of the following year, spent a twelve-month in Eng- 
land, Germany, France and Italy. Returning to America, he 
engaged himself in new editions of his legal publications, and 
in various literary, political and other essays. The Rev. Dr. 
McClintock has thought, from his profound acquaintance with 
the French and other writers upon Social Philosophy, that 
11 all his other studies were only preliminary and preparatory 
to the one great science of Sociology, to which, had he lived, 
his mature powers would," that able writer thinks, " have 
been exclusively devoted :"* and Mr. Auguste Comte has re- 
corded that " although he gave his youth in part to literary 
efforts, his spontaneous and free communications to me autho- 
rize the belief that he would have distinguished himself in 
active life in a country where the noble citizen is greater even 
than the officer of State."f It is more likely perhaps, that 
had his life been spared, his mind would have exercised itself 
as it had done on various subjects, including chiefly law, lite- 

* Methodist Quarterly Review, January, 1854, p. 136. 

f Preface to Vol. iii. of the Systeme de Politique Positive, xvii. 

b2 • 



XV111 MEMOIR. 



\ 



rature, the arts, military history and social philosophy. Being 
unmarried and with few family ties, he had resolved to live a 
divided life between Europe and America; passing three or 
four years abroad, and then returning for a shorter season to 
his native country, where he might give to the profession his 
legal productions. He had made an arrangement with his law 
publishers, the Messrs. Johnson, at Philadelphia, for giving 
to the profession a series of works on the leading subjects of 
Commercial Law; and with a view to the preparation of them, 
it was his wish to pass a year or two in some university abroad 
in the exclusive study of the Civil Law. For this venerable 
system he entertained and often expressed the profoundest 
respect,* and thought that it had been presented in some 
cases, to the profession in our country by persons who citing 
it much, understood it but little; and whose efforts, he con- 
ceived, had perhaps disturbed the harmony of the domestic 
system, without giving us in its place any homogeneous or 
practicable parts of the foreign jurisprudence. 

In the spring of 1852, while engaged in certain literary labor, 
Mr. Wallace's eye-sight became somewhat confused: over- 
effort had produced, as was afterwards discovered, congestion 
of parts which lie near the base of the brain. His medical 
advisers, who could perceive no indication of organic dis- 
turbance, and little disturbance of any kind, spoke of the 
matter lightly, and thought that a tour of foreign travel would 
perfectly restore his condition. Mr. Wallace's own opinion 
was different, and before setting out for Europe, he stated to 
his brother, the only surviving member of his family, his own 
intimate conviction, that excess of blood had been thrown upon 
his brain, arid that his health was irrecoverably gone. Having ^ 
arranged all his affairs with the utmost precision and com- 
posure, he embarked on the 13th of November, 1852, in the 
steamer Arctic for England: it being planned that his brother, 
just then engaged in some concerns important to them both, 
should follow him immediately. Though the balance of his 
health was perceived to be somewhat disturbed, such had 

# See liin remarks post, in the chapter entitled the Roman Forum. 



MEMOIR. XIX 

been his consideration for others in the expression of his 
symptoms — so severely regular, and faithful, and systematic 
his discharge of every duty which remained to him, that his 
own apprehension of the dangers that threatened him, were 
supposed by the very few persons to whom he made any indi- 
cation of them, to be quite exaggerated. His voyage to Eng- 
land, where he arrived on the 25th of November, had been 
decidedly beneficial. " To speak of my health," he writes on 
that day, "it is difficult to make a certain report. I have not 
got the rocking and pitching of the ship out of my brain suf- 
ficiently to know what my terra firma condition really is. . . . 
In some respects I am better. My spirits are improved, and 
I mean to keep them up. My mind seems to me in a better 
condition. As for my strength, I cannot say much. But I do 
not mean to put it to any severe trials. I suffered at sea from 
fullness of the heart. And I am inclined to suspect that a 
somewhat irregular action of the heart, of which I have been 
conscious for many years, is a principal, if not the primary 
cause of all my difficulties * * * * My own impression is that 
a quiet, regular life, amused but not agitated, and. allowing 
much repose, is the proper course for me. But I am not sure 
that a colder climate than the Mediterranean, or even than 
Paris, is not the true atmosphere for me. If I find Paris not 
sufficiently bracing, I may go to Munich or Berlin. But I will 
not move precipitately. If I move I will leave letters for you 
with Peabody, and with Green & Co." Among his fellow 
passengers was the poet, Bryant, of whom he says that " my 
chief stay and support was in Bryant's conversation." The 
improvement by which he here was encouraged, did not con- 
tinue ; and he hastened to Paris for medical relief. From that 
city he writes to the only surviving member of his family, on 
the 8th December, 1852: "I am sorry to be able to give you 
but a bad report of my health. My exhaustion has been 
greater since I have been in Paris than at any previous time. 
This I may attribute in part to the damp, mild, debilitating 
weather which has prevailed since my arrival. I hope and 
fight on still." And with the consideration which marked his 
whole life, he adds, " I do not think you had better come out; 



XX MEMOIR . 

for it would not be in your power to do me much good, and 
you might much injure your own interests." A postscript 
adds: "I have placed myself under the care of Dr. Bertin, 
who enjoys a high character for skill in nervous complaints. 
He is a very kind, gentlemanly and excellent person in his 
deportment, and has behaved most obligingly to me." Five 
days after, he writes to the same person: " Dr. Bertin, at my 
request, wrote to you by the Franklin, to say that your coming 
out would be important to me. I believe the chief matter is 
that I am exceedingly nervous. Therefore do not neglect any 
important interest for the purpose of coming; but if quite 
convenient, I should certainly find your company a great satis- 
faction. I have sometimes been in the deepest depression and 
alarm, and at other times am a little better. Travelling agi- 
tates and fatigues me, and repose alone brings depression. 
Do not say anything to create an apprehension, but come if 
conveniently you can." Three days after this his death took 
place suddenly, and the intelligence of it reached America 
but the day before his brother was about to leave home to 
join him. 

The announcement of Mr. Wallace's demise was received 
with profound grief by all his fellow-countrymen in Paris 
with whom he was acquainted. In the absence of near rela- 
tives, immediate measures were taken by Mr. Rives, then our 
minister at the Court of France, by Mr. J. R. Ingersoll, who 
at that time was representing our country with so much dig- 
nity at the Court of London; by our excellent consul, Mr. S. 
G. Goodrich, by the honorable and respected members of the 
house of Messrs. Green & Co., — who so often to the American 
citizen in a foreign land, have made, by every disinterested 
service, a relation originally casual and of business merely, 
the ligament of lasting and grateful regard, — and by other 
American citizens, residents in Paris, to pay all respect that 
it was fitting or was possible to render to his name and memory. 

Attended by every external indication of regard, and accom- 
panied by a respectful train of his fellow-countrymen, Mr. Wal- 
lace's remains were committed to the tomb in the beautiful 
cemetery of Mont Martre, on the 19 December, 1852, with the 



MEMOIR. XXI 

religious offices of the Church of England, performed by the 
Rev. C. Bertie Harriot, Chaplain to the British Embassy; 
there being no minister of the American.branch of this church 
at the time in Paris. They were afterwards brought to his 
own country, where they were reposited on the 4th of March, 
1853, in the vault of his family, in the grounds of St. Peter's 
Church, Philadelphia. 

Most of the papers which follow, were found in Mr. Wallace's 
port-folio, at his residence in Paris, after his death. They 
had been written, of course, before leaving America. They 
are the last which came from his pen. They are all unfinished — 
" immature buds and blossoms shaken from the tree, and green 
fruit; yet will they evince what the harvest would have been." 
He had declined a request from a literary friend, who had 
offered to supervise the printing of them, to allow even their 
anonymous publication. They form, as has been intimated, 
but a small part of his writings, and are not those perhaps 
which would prove the most generally interesting. Of so 
little value did he himself esteem them, that having dropped 
from his pocket in travelling, the parcel into which he had 
rolled them, he would not allows telegraph to be despatched, 
nor any effort to be made for their recovery. It was only 
through the determined and unknown interference of an at- 
tendant that they were finally obtained. 

Mr. Wallace kept a journal during his first visit abroad; 
and his letters to America, written during the same time, are 
replete with interest. It is possible that at a future day these 
last, with a collection of some of his other various writings, 
may be presented to the public with his name. 

One or two notices, which appeared upon the intelligence 
in America of Mr. Wallace's death, are appended to this 
record. 



OBITUARY. 

[privately printed.] 



Kecent letters from Paris communicate the death of Ho- 
race Binney "Wallace, Esq., in that city, on the 16th De- 
cember last, at the age of thirty-five ; and the Bar of Philadel- 
phia, of which he was a member, have done the customary 
honor to his memory, with more than the usual evidences 
of sorrow and respect. 

Mr. "Wallace's health, for the first time, in the course of the 
last summer and autumn, became considerably disturbed, in 
the pursuit of his habitual concerns with literature and the 
law, and the disturbance was indicated by symptoms, which 
were at first referred to the stomach, as the usual effects of 
dyspepsia ; but they became better referable a short time be- 
fore his departure for Europe, in November, to diseased cere- 
bral action, induced by some lesion of the blood-vessels in the 
brain ; and this has been confirmed by his sudden and afflic- 
tive death in Paris. His surviving brother, who had taken his 
passage to join him, was arrested but two days before his in- 
tended departure, by a telegraphic despatch to Liverpool, from 
the American Minister in London to the Consul of the United 
States, which he communicated by the steamer of the same 
morning that the despatch came to his hands. 

It is a rare circumstance that a man of Mr. Wallace's age, 
without wife and children, not of habits of either promiscuous 
or convivial association, something in appearance reserved, 
and certainly select in his choice of companions and society, 
has, by his death, left so painful a void in the bosoms of so 
many. The grief which is felt at his premature death tran- 



Xxiv OBITUARY. 

scends all ordinary experience ; and one who knew him, and 
loved him in his heart's core, occupies a small sheet, not to 
unbosom his sorrow, but to explain or state the reasons why 
so many are partakers of it with him. 

Mr. Wallace was not unknown as a writer in the Law. He 
has contributed to his profession in notes, or, more properly 
speaking, in commentaries upon Mr. Smith's Selection of lead- 
ing Cases in various branches of the Law ; upon White and 
Tudor' s Selection of Leading Cases in Equity, and upon de- 
cisions in American Courts in several departments of the Law, 
(a work of kindred design, undertaken by himself and his as- 
sociate in all these publications, the present Judge Hare,) the 
fruits of as accomplished a legal mind, as any man in any 
country, at his early age, has shown. It is, indeed, an injus- 
tice to him to speak of these works in relation to age or years. 
There is no professional mind, here or elsewhere, that would 
not have left as many, perhaps more, traces of youth, or im- 
mature thought, or defective research, among the clear, pre- 
cise, beautifully written, and, in several instances, bright and 
radiant criticisms, which have proceeded from his pen in each 
of these works. The best judges in the country have received 
them, and spoken of them with the highest respect ; and the 
profession have accredited them, in all our States, by calling 
for edition after edition of them in quick succession, as the 
demand has repeatedly exhausted the booksellers' supply. It 
is almost marvellous that a man of thirty, who had had no 
time or chance to file his opinions and thoughts, by the 
thoughts of other men in Bar discussions, should have attained 
to so true, and uniform, and firm an edge, and to so sharp and 
penetrating a point, in all of them. There is not a note or re- 
mark in the whole body, that does not show the mind of a 
lawyer, imbued with the spirit of the science, instinctively per- 
ceiving and observing all its limitations, its harmonies, its mo- 
dulations, its discords, as a cultivated musical ear perceives, 
without an effort, what is congruous or incongruous with the 
harmonies of sound. They manifest the true distinction be- 
tween a lawyer and a random speculator upon Law. His pen, 
moreover, was the true emblem, as well as instrument, of his 



OBITUARY. XXV 

mind : it was strong, pointed, clean, delicate enough for the 
finest thoughts, and firm enough for the strongest, making no 
hair-strokes that elude the sight, or blurs that deform the 
page. There is a beautiful concord between his thoughts and 
his language. And all this was effected with inconceivable 
facility. He possessed a real and true genius for legal dis- 
quisition„ The outside world commonly think that the genius 
of the Bar lies in speech, and not in thought or in writing ; 
and that there is something in the dissociating action of legal 
studies that drives off all that finer essence that obtains for its 
effects the name of genius. But it is a great mistake, and no 
profession has given more proofs of it than the Bar. One of 
the causes of the deep grief that Mr. Wallace's death has oc- 
casioned to his young professional friends, is that, as he had a 
'decided inclination for this species of employment, and was of 
habits, and in circumstances, that disposed and enabled him 
to so devote himself, the American world has lost in him the 
inappreciable advantage of possessing a great legal critic and 
writer, in the midst of those surges of judicial opinion which 
sometimes make the sway of the Law among us shake like a 
thing unfirm. 

A year or two before his last visit to Europe, for his health, 
he had passed a twelve-month in England and on the Conti- 
nent, with particular reference to the study of their great 
works in the arts, especially in church architecture, as well as 
in painting and sculpture. If his health should be restored 
in his renewed tour, it was his purpose to extend that survey 
to Spain. It had before been limited to England and Scotland, 
France, Holland, Saxony, Bavaria, Austria and Hungary, 
Lombardy and Middle and Southern Italy. He possessed a 
knowledge of the principles of these arts, and aesthetic sensi- 
bility to appreciate their works, which, by the aid of his pen, 
would have been imparted to the world, in the lights of a 
bright imagination, and of a most pure and refined taste. His 
letters from Munich, Prague, Vienna, Milan, Florence and 
Rome, upon his first tour, are a treasure of criticism as well 
as a mine of true feeling on these subjects. They deserve 
publication, and will bear it, without fear, in their present 
C 



XXVI OBITUARY. 

state, written calamo currente. % But it is believed that he had 
given some months, after his return, to the preparation of his 
journal for the press, or, at least, to bring it to a state which 
he regarded as a better representation of his opinions and ob- 
servations ; and this, it is to be hoped, may yet be communi- 
cated for public use and enjoyment. 

But he was not a writer of Law only, or of instructive and 
elegant criticisms upon the fine arts. His mind was excursive 
far beyond the ordinary degree, even among the most liberal 
and cultivated lawyers, and to an extent which proved that 
the study of the Law had imposed no fetters upon his range 
of thought. There was nothing worth reading that he did 
not read, nor hardly anything worth thinking about that he 
did not profoundly weigh, and think of, again and again. And 
he had accomplishments, by education, that enabled him to 
read with perfect selection, and to think with accuracy and 
constancy. He was a fine mathematician, and excellent clas- 
sical scholar, and of the purest taste. His imagination made 
him a poet, to appreciate what is most excellent in poetry ; but 
with it was associated profound and susceptible feelings, which 
caused him to shrink from a large proportion of what passes 
under that name. Before he was twenty, he was the projector 
of a new theory of comets, which he subsequently discarded, 
but which he followed up by the publication of a playful literary 
essay with that title, in place of a disquisition in the grave 
science which is endeavoring to bring these eccentrical bodies 
into system. * * ■ * * * ' i * 

It is in his later years, however, and in the periodicals in 
our country, as well as in works not periodical, that are to be 
found the best evidences of his refined taste, his philosophical 
mind, and his powerful and polished pen. Except in the law, 
he wrote and published anonymously. His modesty, rather 
than indifference to reputation, was the cause of it. Time may, 
and probably will, disclose a part of these works, which will 
be honored, and give honor to him, by being connected with 
the author's name. He had no special or limited walk in these 
things. His topics were as various as his reading ; and his 
recollections of all that he had read, were as fresh at the end 



OBITUARY. XXVU 

of years as they were at the end of a day. His memory took 
the impression of what he read with attention, like softened 
steel ; and it hardened when the book was closed, so as never 
to lose the most delicate lines of the author. He was, more- 
over, deeply read in the Bible, as might be inferred from par 
rental instruction and example. He had its noble passages 
and its encouraging truths by heart ; and he had publicly pro- 
fessed his faith in it by receiving confirmation in the church 
of which all his family were members. It is in the highest 
degree consolatory to his friends, to learn that, in the short 
intervals of calmness that were allowed by the access of his 
distemper, he gave almost the last look of his eyes to the di- 
vine pages of the Book. 

It has been said that, in appearance, he was reserved. The 
world so regarded him ; and, in the same way, it misregards 
all men of the same type. He had no reserve whatever. He 
was frank, cordial, affable, full of conversation, affluent in to- 
pics, playfully imaginative in the treatment of them, and pro- 
lific in illustrating them by the treasures, great or small, that 
he would appropriately bring from his own memory into the 
common stock of conversation. He was a converser, not a 
talker. He was an exchanger of resources and products, 
not a monopolist. He was dumb to the heart's content of any 
man who wanted to have all the talk to himself. His reserve 
was a habit of the body, not of the mind or of the heart. If 
the heart or mind of any man whom he respected, was brought 
into communion with is own, there was at once a commixture 
and an overflow. But in our free intercourse, in which all 
conditions and characteristics are fused together, it does and 
will happen that men, who have any shyness or sensitiveness 
on the surface, will be so misregarded. It happens often, as it 
happened with Mr. Wallace, that the mere temperament of the 
surface rules in this matter, to a degree of which the party is 
himself unconscious, as is immediately perceived by all who 
take any pains to know the person whom they call reserved ; 
for the personal knowledge, after it goes a line beneath the sur - 
fa<je, finds an interior all open, free and unconfined. Mr. Wal~ 
lace's temperament so ruled him in this matter, and no further, 



xxviii Obituary. 

nor otherwise. His heart was as warm, and as kindly as a 
child's, and as true as steel. No difference of opinion or senti- 
ment turned its edge. Instead of being selfish, or self-esteem- 
ing, his truer characteristic was that, to speak after the man- 
ner of men, it was a defect — that he did not sufficiently value 
himself upon the productions of his mind and pen, to connect 
his name with them, nor upon his powers of conversation, to 
give general society more frequent benefit from them. If God 
had continued the life of his accomplished mother, as it has 
pleased him to spare her this pang, more bitter than her own 
death, you might have asked Jier, if her broken heart could 
have throbbed after such intelligence, what he was as a son ! 
And, if death had not almost emptied his quiver upon that fa- 
mily, you might have asked his lovely sisters, what he was as 
a brother, through every day and hour of his life ! But this 
is coming too near to the sacred privacy of domestic grief. He 
has left but one survivor in his own line, of sufficient age to 
suffer and to remember. Suffer, as he must and will, the time, 
we hope, may come, when remembrance will triumph over 
suffering, and recall the virtues that have existed, and have 
exalted the family relation without anguish for their premature 
loss. 

It is sad to record the passing away from a world in which 
it was so much wanted, and from friends who so deeply ad- 
mired and loved him, of this young man's pure heart, accom- 
plished mind, and noble aspirations. It is especially sad that 
they have so passed away in a foreign land, without the solace 
of personal friends, and the aid of family physicians, who 
might, possibly, have averted the melancholy conclusion. But 
such regrets are now unavailing. It is our duty to be thankful 
for him, and to profit by the remembrance of what he was, 
rather than to repine that all the bright promises of his mind 
and life have not been fully established. It is the duty of all 
men to receive the gifts of God with thankfulness, and to en- 
deavor to profit by them, whatever may be the abatements, 
disturbances, or term of enjoyment, which the divine appoint- 
ment may have connected" with them. Submission to His will 



OBITUARY. Xxix 

is as much a part of perfect gratitude as it is of complete obe- 
dience. 



From the New York Home Journal, Feb. 19, 1853.— George P. 
Morris. 

" A more gentle, genial, gifted spirit never breathed upon 
the earth. In all the relations of life he was honored, che- 
rished, esteemed, beloved, admired. In his beautiful and 
blameless character, genius and scholarship were blended in 
perfect harmony with the kind consideration of the friend, the 
calm judgment of the counsellor and the social virtues, quali- 
ties and accomplishments of the true gentleman." 



From the New York Churchman. 

Death of Horace B. Wallace. — We learn, with deep re- 
gret, by a private letter from a friend in Philadelphia, that 
Horace Binney Wallace, Esq., a young lawyer of that city, 
and nephew of the eminent jurist and statesman, the Hon. 
i Horace Binney, lately died very suddenly at Paris. The par- 
ticulars of his death are not given, further than the simple 
facts. He was a man of remarkably rich and varied gifts and 
i accomplishments, all worn with a modesty that added much to 
! their gracefulness and efficacy ; and he promised to be one of 
the brightest lights of our nation. Our Philadelphia corre- 
! spondent, than whom we know of none more competent to 
I judge, as most of our readers would be apt to confess, were we 
free to name him, justly says of Mr. Wallace : "I regard his 
I as one of the best and most accomplished minds I have ever 
\ known. He was really great and beautiful in all his manifesta- 
tions. In all that is exact and beautiful in expression, in ex- 
tent of reading, in learning and judgment, he was a first rate 
man." 

A short acquaintance with Mr. Wallace was enough to sa- 
i tisfy us that, in respect of matter, he was one from whom there 

c2 



xxx OBITUARY. 

was always something to be learned, while his manner and 
bearing were such as made it a pleasure to learn from him. 
Everything, indeed, both in his moral and intellectual struc- 
ture, stood firm and symmetrical, as if all the parts of his 
mind were well placed, and the elements choicely mixed up m 
him. His mother, too, deceased some years since, was worthy 
to be the sister of Horace Binney; to our. apprehension she 
used to talk like a statesman and a philosopher, yet she was, 
in all respects, as sweet and womanly as though her mind had 
never travelled beyond the domestic fire-side ; truly a noble 
and venerable lady of the old school. The naming of Mr. 
Wallace's connections is, doubtless, assurance enough that 
his mind and character were moulded and tempered in the 
Church. And, even had he not been bred there, his native 
rectitude and harmony of mind would, most likely, have car- 
ried him there. 



From the Register, Philadelphia, January 15, 1853. 
[Communicated.] 
The sad and startling intelligence has been received of the 
death of Horace Binney Wallace, Esq. It seems but as yes- 
terday that we saw him apparently well. Perceiving however 
in himself the indications of failing strength, he went abroad, 
hoping to regain his health by cessation from study and change 
of scene, but he died suddenly, in Paris, a few days after his 
arrival. 

We knew him and the several members of his immediate 
family, now all gone but one. Our regard for him and them, 
seeks to indulge itself in some expression of our estimate of 
his rare and admirable qualities. We remember to have heard 
the late Professor Dod say of him, whon a student of the Col- 
lege at Princeton, " Ho was the most extraordinary young man 
he had ever known. He seemed to read and know every thing. 
His superiority and modesty alike attracted his notice on all 
occasions.'' His wide range of reading then so remarkable, 
he continuod in connection with his professional studies. Of 
his attainments in the science of law we can hardly be ex- 



OBITUARY. XXXi 

pected to speak, yet we know he must have mastered its prin- 
ciples and authorities, and could weave them at pleasure into 
a fabric so much his own, as to seem and be like a fresh 
creation. With the practical parts of the profession he was 
never willing to be connected. 

Mr. Wallace did not so much read to gather facts, or to 
know events and the actors in them, as to acquire rules of 
judgment; to discover the beautiful and the true in every 
thing; to take their directions, and find them in their springs 
and most concealed forms. 

Little from his pen has generally been known as his, but 
we have seen passages of his writing, which, for hidden asso- 
ciations — for varied beauty, for exact discrimination, for words 
apt and perfect to thought, we know not where to find equalled. 
What he wrote, and what he said, seemed to have nothing com- 
mon or improvable about it, and yet was as natural and inar- 
tificial as the breath of life. A sense of propriety and delicacy 
was ever present with him as a nature. His greatness was 
such as obscured him, because it acted as a restraint upon all 
self-display. When with familiar friends, in the audience of 
appreciating minds, his conversation would often become sur- 
prisingly eloquent, bringing, as in a moment, the treasures of 
thought and learning to bear on his purpose with a rapidity 
and naturalness, which seemed to tell how unconscious he was 
of any effort, or o*f the stores of mind then unfolding. When 
we consider how highly cultivated and exact his taste was in 
every branch of literature, science and art ; what resources of 
thought and illustration were ever at his command ; what 
chasteness, justness, and certainty marked all his perceptions, 
we feel that it is impossible to utter full truth concerning 
him, and preserve the appearance of chastened discretion. 
How admirable was his style of man! All the moral virtues, 
as servants loyal to a master, and yet gaining empire and roy- 
alty in doing his will ! All the powers of the mind adjusted, 
not one unused in its office, but as lights, each reflecting on 
the other, and making the soul as a place of clear vision, hung 
round with all fair images, and radiant with the first elements 
which enter into the best creations! 



XXX11 OBITUARY. 

When the image is before us of what he might have done 
had he lived long; of the rich fruits that might have been 
gathered from such a mind, to be kept and resorted to for use 
in aftertimes, and consider that he is not, and that little of all 
this is left as a reality, we feel that we may well mourn, and 
take warning to leave nothing of to-day's work undone, lest it 
should never be revealed ; lest the little or the much that we 
can do should be less through our neglect. 

H. Hooker. 



From the Boston Law Reporter, March, 1853. 
OBITUARY. 

In Paris, France, died, Horace Binney Wallace, Esq., of 
Philadelphia, aged 35. Just before the sailing of a late steamer 
from Liverpool, a telegraphic despatch from our minister at 
Paris, announced the sudden and painful death of Mr. Wallace 
in that city. 

The resolutions passed by the Bar of Philadelphia, express- 
ive of more than usual sorrow and respect, the notices in the 
secular and religious papers of New York and Philadelphia, 
and a pamphlet obituary prepared by one of the eminent 
jurists and statesmen of our day, as well as the grief of an 
uncommonly large circle of friends, show that this has been 
the death of no ordinary man; especially when we consider 
that he died at the age of thirty-five, and in no public office or 
connection. 

Mr. Wallace was born in Philadelphia, in 1817, and edu- 
cated at Princeton College. His mother, a sister of the dis- 
tinguished citizen whose name he bore, was a woman of a 
high style of mind and manners. At college, he was distin- 
guished as a mathematician and a Greek scholar. The late 
Professor Dod, of that institution, said of him, " He was the 
most extraordinary young man I ever knew. He seemed to 
read and know every thing. His superiority and modesty 
alike attracted my attention, on all occasions." Before the 
age of twenty, he projected a new theory of comets which, 



OBITUARY. XXX111 

though subsequently abandoned by him, showed originality 
and skill, and his Greek studies he continued to the last. Be- 
ing in circumstances of independence, he spent a good deal of 
time in foreign travel, and it is purposed to publish his note- 
book of observations, carefully made by him on the great sub- 
jects of fine arts, manners, social systems, and the develop- 
ments of religious and political character and institutions in 
Europe. 

But it is-chiefly as a lawyer that we are to notice the de- 
ceased. He is known as the author (in connection with his 
friend Judge Hare,) of the American notes to Smith's Leading 
Cases in Law, and to White & Tudor's Leading Cases in 
Equity, and of the later and yet more valuable work, (also in 
connection with Judge Hare) on American Leading Cases. 
These works evince a thoroughness, a logical precision, as 
well as a fertility of analogies and illustrations, — in short, the 
mind of the true legal philosopher, which have given them an 
assured rank in all States of the Union, and repeatedly exhaust- 
ed the publisher's supply. And these were prepared before 
* the age of thirty. 

To the profession, therefore, the early death of such a man 
is a great loss. A laborer, in obedience to the great law that 
genius will labor, and not from the ordinary pressures which 
lead to so much book-making, the profession could place im-* 
plicit reliance on his natural thoroughness and pride of cha- 
racter, as well as conscientious regard to duty. And his 
developing powers of mind and increasing acquisitions gave 
assurance of yet brighter things to come* 

Yet it is fair to say that these works alone do not account 
for the extraordinary manifestations from high quarters called 
forth by his death. He was also known as a writer, almost 
always anonymously, in our leading journals, on subjects phi- 
losophical, literary and theological, and the value and power 
of his pen had become known among literary men. The dedi- 
cation to him of ^riswold's Collection of American Prose 
Writers was an expression of the general feeling entertained 
towards him by the younger class of authors. The New York 
Churchman, and the Register, a church paper published in 



XXXIV OBITUARY. 

Philadelphia, have borne testimony, since his death, to his 
religious and theological character and opinions, and the 
Literary World, to his literary rank and merit. Nor is this 
all. The high and general character of the response is also 
attributable to the fact, that Mr. Wallace impressed himself on 
all men whom he met, and especially on leading minds capable 
of directing public opinion. There was that rare and unmis- 
takable fineness of temper, denoting the true metal, that moral 
and intellectual elevation, showing itself in manner and con- 
versation, in a way which the high-minded cannot mistake, 
and the vulgar and commonplace cannot imitate, which gave 
him a place in the affections and respect of those whose respect 
and affection for the most part determine the rate of public 
estimation. 

So many of the lights of the profession have been men 
whose minds and characters, out of their professional track, 
are unmarked and uninteresting, that we are proud to rank a 
character like that of Mr. Wallace among the legal writers of 
America. 



From the Daily National Intelligencer, Feb. 23, 1854. 
The most eminent disciple of Mr. Comte in this country 
was, perhaps, the late Horace Binney Wallace, of Phila- 
delphia, over whose early and untimely grave the whole nation 
failed to mourn, only because it did not know its loss, and be- 
cause his life was too short in which to found a fame equal to 
his abilities and virtuous ambition. Long before the Philo- 
sphie Positive was much known either in England or the 
United States, Mr. Wallace had made himself thoroughly ac- 
quainted with it. Indeed, he declares that he had himself 
begun to apply the inductive method of Bacon to politics, 
morals and religion, before he had ever heard of Comte, just 
as Coleridge informs us, that on reading the works of Plotinus 
and the Neo Platonists, he found out that he had already 
thought out all that they contained. Hence, it is not without 
reason that Mr, Comte, in the preface to the third volume of 



OBITUARY. XXXV 

his Systeme de Politique Positive, deplores the loss of so emi- ) _ 
nent a disciple, destined without doubt to become one of the 
principal pillars of positivism. Newton did not with more 
reason regret the early death of Coates, than does Comte of 
the " temporal patron and spiritual client," whose sun went 
down even before it had reached its noon-tide. 



From the North American and United States Gazette. 

St. Andrew's Society. — Death of H. B. Wallace, Esq. 

At a special meeting of the St. Andrew's Society of Phila- 
delphia, held on Friday, January 14, 1853, at the office of 
John K. Mitchell, M. D., it was 

Resolved, That this Society has learned, with deep sorrow, 
the sudden and unexpected demise, at Paris, of their late 
highly valued member, Horace B. Wallace, Esq., of the 
Philadelphia Bar ; a gentleman endeared by long association 
to his associates of this Society, honored in his profession, and 
universally beloved and cherished in the social circles of his 
native city. 

Resolved, That the above resolution, duly attested by the 
the President and Secretary, be entered upon the records of 
the St. Andrew's Society, and published in the public papers 
of this city. 

J. K. MITCHELL, President. 

George Young, Secretary. 
Philadelphia, Jan. 17, 1853. 



Prom the same. 
At a meeting of the Bar, held at the Law Library, on Mon- 
day the 10th instant, at 12 o'clock noon, the Hon. Wm. M. 
Meredith was called to the chair, and E. Spencer Miller 
was appointed secretary. 

The following resolutions were offered by P. M'Call, Esq. : 
Resolved, That we have heard, with sentiments of profound 



XXXVI OBITUARY. 

regret, of the untimely decease of Horace Binney "Wal- 
lace, Esq. 

Resolved, That in his death we lament the loss of a brother, 
whose labors in the field of American Law had won for him a 
well deserved reputation ; and whose high moral and intellec- 
tual endowments, varied attainments, and purity of character, 
added lustre to the Bar of which he was an ornament. 

Resolved, That a committee of five, with the officers of the 
meeting, be appointed to convey to the family of the deceased 
an expression of the heart-felt sympathy of the Bar, on this 
melancholy bereavement. 

Resolved, That these resolutions be published. 

The following gentlemen were appointed by the chair on 
the committee: P. M'Call, H. J. Williams, B. Gerhard, G. M. 
Wharton, and Saunders Lewis, Esq. 

W. M. MEREDITH, Chairman. 

E. Spencer Miller, Secretary. 

Philadelphia, Jan, 10, 1853. 






A E T, 

AN EMANATION OF RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 



The position of an educated, but untravelled, Ameri- 
can, in respect to Art, is one which, perhaps, a European 
would hardly understand. A certain perfection of charac- 
ter enters so necessarily into the nature of Art, in its true 
and highest condition, and the difference between that con- 
summate excellence which breathes the glow of creation 
and that secondary merit which only transcribes and imi- 
tates, is so completely one of kind, as well as degree, that 
it may fairly be said, that if we see not Art in its su- 
premeness, we know not Art at all. A European, of 
whatever country or class, has been familiar with some 
examples of this kind from his youth. An Englishman 
m visiting Italy, will become acquainted with works of a 
higher grade than any he may have met with before • yet 
a few good pictures in the galleries at home, or at all 
events, the magnificent cathedrals of his own land will 
have given him a knowledge of the nature of great Art 
and an experience of the emotions which it is fitted to pro' 
duce. But of those works, still existing in their com- 
pleteness, which may be referred to the perfection of 
Art,— m Greek sculpture, Gothic architecture, and early 
Italian painting— not one example has ever been seen 
upon the shores of the new world. The American reads 



1-i ART, AN EMANATION OF 

of Art, and conjectures what it may be, with something 
of the wondering, half-incredulous curiosity, with which 
he might hear of a new sense. The astonishment of de- 
light with which the glorious beauties of the master-pieces 
of the pencil or chisel at last roll over his spirit, mingling 
thought and feeling together in a tumultuous re-action of 
enjoyment, when, at some late day, in the fulness perhaps 
of reflective sensibility, and the maturity of a taste culti- 
vated by literature and society, he comes, for the first 
time, into the presence of a new order of illustrations of 
divine characteristics, can be dimly apprehended by one to 
whom acquaintance with such things has been gradual 
and prolonged. My own preparation for -these studies 
had been slight, and my appreciation of them was, of 
course, limited : yet I can scarcely now write upon the 
subject without falling into the language of enthusiasm. 
I am sure that the canons of the Cathedral at Parma con- 
cluded me lunatic, when they saw me stretched upon my 
back for hours, under the incomparable Assumption by 
Corrcggio in their Cupola. And it was with what I 
might, without exaggeration, call a rational delirium of 
pleasure that I viewed, through successive hours, the 
Madonna di San Sisto at Dresden, and the Madonna della 
Misericordia at Lucca. 

But it is not the energy and beauty inherent in particu- 
lar productions,— the delight which they afford the taste, 
the expansion they give to the imagination, or the eleva- 
tion to which they guide the spirit, — that constitute all 
the value of those exhibitions of genius which Europe 
sets before us. It is as an illustration of the properties 
and history of the mind, that the study of Art is able to 
engage and reward the most animated curiosity. To ob- 
serve the rise, development, extension, modifications and 
decline, of the power of Art, at various times and in dif- 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 15 

ferent countries, — to note its relations to the progress of 
society, and its connection with the moral state of the 
people among whom it appears, — and thus to arrive at 
some anticipation of the fortunes of Art in the present 
day, — form a large share of the satisfaction of ranging 
through the galleries of the continent. 

There is, at this time, throughout both Europe and 
America, a great deal of mental interest in Art. Not only 
does the topic employ the speculations and criticisms of 
the lettered classes, but the popular attention, largely, is 
directed to it. We have Art-Unions ; with their halls of 
pictures; their distribution of engravings; their annual 
meetings, speeches and reports ; by which the community 
is made to hear much about the matter. Treatises have 
appeared upon the means of developing art. The value of 
"High Art," the importance of " aesthetic views/' and 
the nature of " artistic principles/' form not only the 
themes of articles and essays, but the staple of modern 
conversation. In England, parliament has appointed com- 
mittees to investigate and-niake report upon the subject; 
and public national encouragement in various ways has 
been accumulated upon it. But with all this external 
excitement about Art, has Art, itself, — the capacity of 
Art in the class professing it, — improved at all ? With- 
out making any remark about America, I think that it is 
necessary only to have walked through the rooms of the 
Annual Exhibition at London, at any late display, to be 
convinced that, amid all these stimulating efforts, the 
originality and force of Art have, in the last twenty years, 
sensibly declined. 

It seems worth while to try to look into the philosophy 
of the matter, and consider whether the methods that 
have been made use of, reasonably tend to the creation of 
artist-power, and how far it is probable that this age, as 



16 

its character and course now are, will produce schools of 
great painters. Modern society, conscious of acute and 
comprehensive intellectual abilities, and aware of exercis- 
ing almost indefinite mechanical mastery, has not thought 
of calling in doubt its own ability to display the powers of 
Art. It looks upon the matter as a mere affair of develop- 
ment, and takes it for granted that only instruction, prac- 
tice and motive, are wanted to bring out the precious 
result. It has not thought of questioning how far life 
now supplies the moral staple from which Art is fashioned, 
or admits of the circumstances requisite to evolve it fit- 
tingly. 

It is clear that the art-creating faculty is not the same 
with the purely rational and scientific capacity, but is 
wholly disconnected from it. The oflices of the latter ar* 
perception, discrimination and inference. The other, a 
more sensitive and impassioned thing, re-acts, according to 
instincts of its own, with a modifying and moulding ener- 
gy, upon every object and feeling addressing it, so as to 
result in visionary conceptions and ideal creations. It is 
to be looked upon as a separate and peculiar faculty; hold- 
ing a place between the mere emotions and the clear intel- 
lect; partaking the properties of both, and combining their 
natures in the unity of its own original character and ac- 
tion ; as its productions also occupy an intermediate posi- 
tion between the sensible and rational. Yet, two-fold as 
may be the affinities of Art, in its critical analysis, the 
faculty that creates Art, is single, distinct, original and 
natural; a gift bestowed upon some and withheld from 
others. It implies, no doubt, a cerebral organization or 
development of a special kind. 

It is pretty obvious that no man, or society of men, can, 
"by taking thought/' add the endowment of this " faculty 
divine" to their nature. And it lies so deep amid the im- 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 17 

pulsive and sympathetic parts of the being, and its coming 
forth is so involuntary and unconscious, that it is certain 
that mere intellectual flagellation cannot create or stir it. 
It may be, to some extent, a subject of educational devel- 
opment ; but only indirectly and remotely ; by inward 
culture of the sentiments, or through the establishment of 
great moral institutions which rouse and deepen and refresh 
the spiritual affections of society. 

To determine whether Art is likely to flourish in any 
country, at any particular time, we must explore the na- 
ture and characteristics of this art-faculty, the circum- 
stances under which it appears, and the laws that regulate 
its growth and state : and in so doing, we shall derive no 
profitable aid from mere notional theories or metaphysical 
speculations. We must proceed from observation. We 
must look at those occasions in the history of our race, in 
which artist-power has been manifested in genuine and 
signal energy ; and by noting the antecedents and accom- 
paniments under which it has come into action, and the 
qualities that have marked its progress, we may discover 
the conditions of its existence and the laws of its evolu- 
tion. In traversing various nations, and viewing the 
monuments that still remain upon earth of the capacities 
and accomplishments that, in any former times, have be- 
longed to mankind, we quickly see that the faculty of Art 
has only at certain and very rare periods been possessed 
by man ; and that it partook the aspect of a real inspira- 
tion, streaming forth free from apparent relation to intel- 
lect, intention and will. We shall find that it has appear- 
ed, not as the accidental and occasional attribute of indi- 
vidual persons, separated in place and time, and starting 
up alone and unfollowed, in a community otherwise desti- 
tute of the manifestations of such a possession, but rather 
as a characteristic of a society, nation or particular people, 

2* 



18 ART, AN EMANATION OF 

at certain eras, and in special ages of their history. We 
shall find it, not bursting out suddenly, in all its com- 
pleteness, but rising gradually, advancing to a pitch of 
excellence which, according to the purpose and capacity of 
the style, may be called Perfection ; continuing in bright 
and flowing vigor for a limited time ; then flickering and 
going out like a lamp; or drooping and dying like a plant; 
or breaking and fading away like a vision-haunted slumber 
of humanity. That light, no efforts can again reluraine ; 
that growth, no culture afterwards can revive; to that 
sweet half-conscious dream of glory, not all the drowsy 
sirups of the world can medicine once more the faculties 
of that people. 

Thus far, architecture, sculpture and painting have 
shown themselves the three matters best adapted to take 
the forms and show the character of Art, There may be 
a reason for this, and it might be suggested that Litera- 
ture, on the one band, is too intellectual in its essence, 
and music on the other too sensuous in its operation, for 
either of them readily to assume that fusion of mental and 
material,— to admit that perfect balance of the elements of 
the sensible and thoughtful, in its substance,-— which Art 
requires. But it would be rash to infer a necessary law 
from so scanty an experience ; and it is enough to say that 
looking at Art historically, and taking note of the actual 
evolution of this power through the past course of our race, 
we shall find that it is in these three departments only 
that those qualities of surpassing and irresistible excellence 
have been reached, which make Art an existence and na- 
ture by itself. In the range of the world's experience, 
there seem to have been but four special displays of artist- 
inspiration so undefective in their completeness, so ex- 
alted in significance, so absolute in splendor, as to fill 
every susceptibility that our nature can conceive to be the 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 19 

subject of an emotion. The reason finds in them no sign 
of deficiency ; feeling can suggest no limit to their interest. 
They stand in the mystery of an inherent Perfection : par- 
ticipating of an apparent divinity in the inscrutableness of 
their nature, as well as in the overswaying might of their 
moral power. Through them, the mind runs upward, 
along the viewless chain of spiritual sympathy till it loses 
itself in the Infinite. These are Greek sculpture, Italian 
painting, Gothic architecture and Greek architecture. 

Of these, only the three first yet remain upon the earth, 
in such entireness of preservation, that we are able per- 
fectly to appreciate and experience their power. Greek 
architecture is no longer a presence of unimpaired and liv- 
ing excellence. We may mentally reconstruct the crum- 
bled and plundered temples of Attica, and can infer what 
once they must have been ; but there is no example from 
which we can directly feel all the beauty and meaning that 
dwelt in those spoiled and violated forms. My own ac- 
quaintance, too, even with its ruins, is so limited, that I 
shall not pretend to make any deductions from it. But I 
shall offer some reflections upon the nature, characteristics 
and laws of Art, which an actual observation of specimens 
of the other three, suggested to me. 

In viewing these monuments of art, or indeed any others, 
it becomes apparent that Art has always had an intimate 
connection with the character and degree of the religious 
sensibility of the people among whom it has appeared : and 
a prolonged examination of these works in all their variety 
will suggest the truth that the Art-faculty is nothing else 
than earnest religious feeling acting imaginatively, or im- 
agination working under the elevating and kindling influ- 
ences of religious feeling. There is no instance, in his- 
tory, of a signal manifestation of art-power, except among 
people, and in ages, where religious enthusiasm and re- 



20 ART, AN EMANATION OF 

ligiousness of nature were prominent characteristics. And 
further, there is no instance of supreme excellence in Art 
being reached, excepting where the subject of the artist's 
thoughts and toils, — the type which he brought up to per- 
fection — was to him an object of worship, or a sacred thing 
immediately connected tvith his holiest reverence. This 
law, — that the mental faculties become fertilized and ex- 
panded into Art-creative energy, only when impregnated 
with religious emotion, or that Art is a fervent essence of 
religious sensibility overflowing into the moulds of imagi- 
nation, — will be illustrated in the examples of Art just 
mentioned, where the human person, the basis of the Greek 
ideal in sculpture, and the Madonna, which is the inspired 
and inspiring centre of Italian Art, were to each people 
an image of worship; and the temple and church, which 
were the objects of Greek and Gothic architecture, were 
sacred forms, identified with the residence and glory of 
Divinity. Mere religious feeling, of itself, will probably 
never work out anything like a high Art. Many other 
attendants may be required to co-operate. At the periods 
when great Art has been manifested, there has commonly 
been a general movement in the nation, and a great out- 
flow of the forces of individual and social character ; but 
these movements have been connected with a predominant 
earnestness, sensitiveness, and depth of religious emotion, 
and the display of Art has had an immediate relation 
with it. 

It is not difficult to give a reasonable account of this 
principle. The perfections of Art consist not in execu- 
tion; not in the learning of the eye, or the dexterity of 
the hand; but in the exaltedness and fervor of the con- 
ception of the work. And it would appear that the artist 
mind must conceive of its subject with the glowing inten- 
sity of adoration, in order to reproduce that form in the 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 21 

power and splendor which belong to the highest examples 
of actual Art. The picture or statue must first be limned 
or moulded in the imagination by the touches of worship- 
ping affection, before a model fit to be transcribed into 
marble or canvass is brought into existence. But the 
connection between religion and Art is deeper and more 
instinctive than that. And here, in considering the effects 
of religious feeling, we must not draw our impressions 
from the religious feeling of this day, especially in Protes- 
tant countries ; where it is a whipt and cowering thing, 
mastered by reason, subjugated to convenience ) but must 
recur to earlier conditions of our race, when it overswept 
intellect and interest, and was the great forward, urging 
and onward guiding influence of our nature, in whose train 
all the other parts of man's being followed. It seems to 
be a constitutional tendency of earnest religious sensibility 
to fashion visible types, symbols, or images of worship. 
The spirit, conscious of an emotion of reverence for some 
unseen subject of its own apprehension, desires to sub- 
stantiate and fix its deity, and to bring the senses into the 
same adoring attitude, and this can be done only by set- 
ting before them a material representation of the divine. 
This is illustrated in the universal and inveterate tendency 
of early nations to idolatry. And among those people, 
who have something abstract and ideal for their high, in- 
tellectual worship, if the affections and more passionate 
part of the being exercise religious emotion at all, it will 
be towards some Art-creation of humanity. 

How and why was it that the sculpture of the Greeks 
attained a character so exalted, that it shines on, through 
our time, with a beam of glory peculiar and unextinguish- 
able ? When we enter the chambers of the Vatican, we 
are presently struck with the mystic influence that rays 
from those silent forms that stand ranged along the walls ; 



22 ART, AN EMANATION OF 

like the moral prestige that might encircle the vital pres- 
ence of divine beings. We behold divinities represented 
in human shapes idealized into a significance altogether 
irresistible. What constitutes that idealizing modification, 
we know not ; but we feel that it imparts to the figures an 
interest and impressiveness which natural forms possess 
not. These sculptured images seem directly to address the 
imagination : they do not suffer the cold and critical sur- 
vey °of the eye, but awaken an instant and vivid mental 
consideration; and seem rather to be intellectual exist- 
ences apprehended by the mind, than material outlines 
surveyed by the sight. We see that the soul of the sculp- 
tor has wrought with a transmuting, glorifying operation 
upon the type that life afforded him; and, by that moral 
law upon which Art depends for its effect, the creation of 
impassioned genius has force forever to awaken in the 
spirit of those who view it, emotions kindred to those from 
which it sprang. A matter which strikes you, perhaps, 
most of all, as you stray through these lengthening halls, 
is the prodigious number of works of similar excellence 
that the genius of Greece has left us; not all equal in 
degree, indeed, to the Apollo, the Venus, or the new Ath- 
lete, yet of the same nature and order of merit. We learn 
that supremacy in sculpture among that people, was not 
an accidental or miraculous inspiration of a single artist, 
or of two or three, but was the heritage of a race. 

The cause of the special and unapproved excellence of 
the Greeks in sculpture will be found intimately connected 
with the circumstance, that their theology was an anthropo- 
morphous one. The human form was to them an image of 
worship. They conceived of the gods as possessing that 
shape. Indeed, it is evident from the facility with which 
eminent persons in their earlier civilization were deified, 
that to their natural sentiments humanity partook of a 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 23 

divineness, and, in its higher phases, passed readily into 
that sphere. The peculiarity of their case is this, that 
their mental organization was such that instinctively the 
personality of man was to them an adoration : the free 
emanation of their religious conceptions was in a pantheon 
of men and women possessing merely natural impulses and 
characteristics. This is a condition which we, who have 
always sought and possessed a religion purely spiritual and 
abstract, can scarcely comprehend. It is not as if we, with 
natures adapted to moral and intellectual apprehensions of 
our object of worship, were to turn ourselves toward human 
forms with a resolution to make them themes of homage. 
The fact that the Greeks spontaneously made or found a re- 
ligion in them, proves that the Greek nature was exquisitely 
sensitive to the highest impression of the human subject ; 
and felt its finest graces, its most evanescent beauties, with 
a force, an emotion, a delicacy of interest, which we can- 
not follow. The whole intellectual being of the Greek, 
passioned towards this type : to him it was a representa- 
tive, the embodiment,- — in its imaginative conception, — the 
very identity of divinity. All the susceptibilities of his 
immortal spirit, all the endless enthusiasms of a nature, 
in all things, as the Apostle thought, u too superstitious," 
or, according to a better version, " very religious," were 
concentrated in reacting upon this image, and glorifying 
and exalting it. It is not wonderful that Hellenic artists 
accomplished such an idealization of every variety of the 
human shape, as Christian efforts have wholly failed to 
approach. If the process of adoring an object be not 
simply forming and realizing progressively higher and 
brighter apprehensions of its glory, at least the secondary 
and reflective mental consequence or accompaniment of 
adoration must be the production of such heightened im- 
pressions. When our feelings direct themselves under 



24 ART, AN EMANATION OF 

any emotion towards an object, our imagination quickly 
works upon that object, to represent it as worthy to excite 
those feelings, whether favorable or hostile. And, thus, 
when our instinctive nature worships aught, our minds 
speedily frame a justification of this devotion by idealizing 
the object under traits to which, if real, adoration would 
not be inappropriate. Thus, from the fervent mind of the 
Attic sculptor, to whom the augmentation of beauty was a 
service of piety, sprang forth a throng of shapes flashing 
with all the lustre that the soul's idolatry could lavish 
upon them. 

It has sometimes been suggested that the superiority of 
the Greeks in delineating the figure arose from the famili- 
arity with it which they acquired from their frequent 
opportunities of viewing it nude, — on account of their 
usages, costumes, climate, &c. This is too superficial an 
account of that vital faculty of skill and knowledge upon 
this subject, which was a part of the inherent capacity of 
the Greek. His superiority, in this matter, is rather to 
be referred to that susceptibility to the mental impression 
of this image which is implied in his making a religion of 
it, — to the enduring distinctness with which it stamped 
itself upon a moral nature, in this respect, peculiar in its 
organization, — to the revering interest, the pious scrutiny, 
the adoring earnestness of attention with which he was 
predisposed always to contemplate and study its form, — to 
the ethereal sensibility and intensity of apprehension with 
which his consciousness riveted itself upon it. The out- 
flow and characteristic exercise of Grecian inspiration in 
sculpture was in the representation of their mythology, 
which included heroes, or deified men as well as gods of 
the first rank. Later, it extended to winners at the public 
games, athletes, runners, boxers; — but this class of per- 
sons partook, in the national feeling, of a heroic or half- 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 25 

divine superiority. A particular type of form, highly 
ideal, became appropriate to them, as to the heroes, and to 
each of the gods. It may be added, that a capacity thus 
derived from religious impressibility extended to a great 
number of natural forms, which were to the Greeks mea- 
surably objects of a divine regard. Many animals, as 
connected with the gods, or with sacrifices, were sacred 
beings to them, and became subjects of their surpassing 
gift in sculpture. In general, nature, — the visible, the 
sensible, the actual, — was to the Hellenic soul Keligion; 
as inward and reflective emotions were and are to the 
modern European. 

Italian painting is a character as definite, an inspiration 
as special, and a perfection as absolute as Greek sculpture. 
The limits of the life of this spiritual plant of beauty may 
be fixed with much precision. The first bud broke through 
the hard rind ©f conventionality about the year 1220, and 
the scene of its first growth may be fixed at Siena; and by 
the year 1320 the germination of the whole trunk was 
decisively advanced. Cimabue and Giotto had spread 
examples of Art over all Italy. In the next century, till 
1470, all the branches and sprays that the frame was to 
exhibit were grown ; the leafage was luxuriantly full, and 
the buds of the flowers were formed. Memmi, the Gaddis, 
the Orgagnas, the Lippis, Masaccio, and, more than all, 
as relates to spiritual development, Fra Beato had lived 
and wrought. About 1470, the peerless blossom of Per- 
fection began to expand, and continued open for seventy 
years, the brightest period of its glow being between 1500 
and 1535. Its life declined and expired almost immedi- 
ately. After 1570, nothing of original or progressive 
vitality was produced in Italy. Fra Bartolommeo had 
died in 1517; Leonardo in 1519; Hafael in 1520; Cor- 
reggio in 1534; Michael Angelo, at a great age, in 1563. 
3 



26 ART, AN EMANATION OF 

Giorgione had died in 1511 ; John Bellini in 1516; Titian 
survived till 1576, at the age of 99 ; and Veronese died in 
1588. The complete exhaustion of the vital force of Art, 
in the production of the great painters who were all living 
in 1500, is a noticeable fact. With the exception of the 
after-growth of the Bolognese school,— of whom Domini- 
chino, Guido, and Guercino, alone are worth notice — 
which nourished between 1600 and 1660, nothing in the 
manner of the previous days, but false and feeble imita- 
tions, appeared. 

The organic distinctions of the various schools, and their 
historical development, will form the subject of another 
paper. At present, in connection with the principle im- 
mediately in hand, we shall note but two things : First, 
that this evolution of artist power in Italy took place in 
direct association with a great increase and action of reli- 
gious feeling in Italy; and secondly, that all the subjects 
of the painters' toils were to them objects of adoration : 
the Virgin, the Saviour, the Saints. The type which was 
earliest and chiefly perfected, and which led the develop- 
ment, was the Virgin, who was then the principal object 
of affective adoration ; and it was mainly in connection 
with the adoration of her divinity that this new religious 
movement took place. 

I know not a spot upon which one who takes an interest 
in tracing the mental and moral history of the world, may 
stand and look around him with deeper reflections than 
will occur to him upon the hill-side terrace on which 
stands the triple church of Francesco, at Assisi. The vil- 
lage is poor and neglected; and in the more distant pros- 
pect little is to be seen but the bare undulation of hill and 
valley which gives to all that part of Italy a pensive, yet 
engaging, elegance. But in Religion and in Art, that 
scene is a memorable one. If there has been, or now is, 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 27 

any reservoir or fountain of evangelical life in the huge 
system of the Church of Rome, it is to be found in the 
brotherhood of the spiritual Franciscans. Among them is 
the enthusiasm, the sympathy, the more sensuous emotion 
of religion. The grave of the founder is beneath your 
feet. The cell in which he lived and felt and prayed is at 
the base of the mountain upon which you stand ; and the 
piety of modern times has erected a noble cathedral to 
mark and defend that holy retreat, whose rude oaken door 
is guarded as the monument of a sanctity whose living 
influences are not yet exhausted. And when you observe 
that the church of San Francesco beside you contains upon 
its walls the finest museum that exists of the earliest 
works of Italian Art, — that Perugia, identified with the 
original and greatest movement in painting, is distinctly 
seen on the opposite hill, — and that Siena and Florence lie 
not far beyond it, the local connection between the origin 
of the religious revival in Italy and the development of 
Art readily suggests the probability of a rational one. 

It is agreed, by ecclesiastical writers, that there took 
place, in the beginning and middle of the thirteenth cen- 
tury, a decided increase of religious enthusiasm in the 
church, especially in the south of Europe, which was 
manifested by the formation of new monastic orders. 
The most eminent of these, who, from that time to this, 
have been the chief depositories of the devout feeling 
which has sustained and extended the church, were the 
mendicant or begging Friars; the most conspicuous fra- 
ternities of which were the Dominicans and Franciscans. 
The religious passion which, on the one hand, carried such 
multitudes of persons into these orders ; and, on the other, 
caused them to be honored and followed with such earn- 
estness by the laity at large, makes the establishment 
of these orders a monument of a great augmentation of 



28 art, In emanation of 

pious sensibility in the Romish Society. To fix the date 
and peculiar seats of this movement, we may note that 
St. Francis was born at Assisi, in 1182, and died at the 
same place, in 1226; that St. Domenic was born in Old 
Castile in 1170 (?) and died in Italy in 1221 ; that St. Ca- 
tharine of Siena was born in 1347, and died in 1880; and 
St. Berdardino, of Siena, was born in 1380. 

When we inquire for the first appearances of Italian 
genius in art, we find that the earliest authentic production 
of this character is a Madonna, by Guido of Siena, which 
hangs in a chapel in the north transept of the church of 
San Dominic, in Siena, and bears the contemporary date, 
1221. It is a work of great merit, in that stage of paint- 
ing, which till then had not advanced beyond the meagre 
and conventional types of Byzantine figuring. The face 
of the Virgin has even more nature than that of Cima- 
bue's great Madonna in the church of Santa Maria Novella, 
at Florence ; and there is much freedom and grace in the 
figure of the child, who sits in her lap with his feet crossed. 
Another work, by the same artist, also a Maclonna and child, 
is in the academy of that city, (No. 2.) The child is well 
and strongly drawn, and his face is expressive. Other paint- 
ers speedily appeared upon the same spot ; one of the ablest 
of whom was Duccio di Buoninsegna. By this artist, be- 
sides the celebrated work, in the cathedral, of the Passion 
of Christ, and its reverse of the Madonna and Saints, is a 
good painting, in the Academia, of the Virgin and Child, 
and four saints in panels. A more eminent name appears 
about the same time, at Florence, in Cimabue, whose Ma- 
donna, once the adoration of the city, is a work of grand 
genius, and will still be found in the highest degree im- 
pressive and effective. The upper church, at Assisi, con- 
tains a ceiling painted by him, with figures of the four 
Doctors of the Church, in one compartment, and the Ma- 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 29 

donna, Christ, St. John Baptist and St. Francis, in ano- 
ther. To him succeeded Giotto, four of whose works are 
on the vault, under the cross, in the lower church of As- 
sisi, which contains also works by his pupils, and by the 
early artists of Perugia. I mention these brief particulars 
to show that Art, in Italy, rose in immediate connection 
with that particular movement in religion that carried the 
Romish or Italian church into a situation in which the 
northern countries of Europe did not long submit to be; 
that this manifestation took place on and near the very spot 
where one of the most signal events in religious enthusi- 
asm was fixed ; and that the new monastery of St. Francis, 
at Assisi was the principal and earliest patron of nascent 
Art. It should be added, that the monastery and order 
of St. Dominic, early established at Florence, soon gave 
Fra Beato and Fra Bartolommeo to Art. 

There is no doubt whatever, that about the time that 
Art thus began to appear, there was a general stirring in 
Italian life and character, and that, without it, this display 
of Art could not have been produced. But it is equally 
certain, that an increased intensity of a peculiar kind of 
religious devotion was a part of this movement, and that 
the appearance of Art was particularly allied with this 
excitement in the church. 

When you look at the subjects in the perfecting and 
beautifying of which Italian genius, from first to last, was 
occupied, you find that all of them were holy persons, and 
beings adored. It was in representing, visibly, the mytho- 
logy of the Romish church, that the Art-inspiration of 
medieval Italy worked itself out. But it was especially in 
the pictorial deification of the Madonna that creative ge- 
nius then reached the standard of ideal perfection which 
makes the glory of these schools. And here we may note 
also, a particular historical relation between religion and 

3* 



30 ART, AN EMANATION OF 

Art upon this point. It was about the end of the twelfth 
and beginning of the thirteenth century that the character 
of the Virgin was raised into real divinity by the establish- 
ment of the doctrine of her immaculate conception. The 
controversy upon this topic began about 1140, and raged 
for above a century, when it may be said to have gained 
that ascendency and growing moral power which it has 
ever since maintained. A leading characteristic of the 
Franciscan revival was the special exaltation and adoration 
of this lady, and the enthusiasm of the order became iden- 
tified with this new doctrine, — a theory so necessary to 
justify that inordinate worship of her which has pervaded 
the whole church, that the Franciscans have almost obtain- 
ed the final seal of infallibility upon it, notwithstanding its 
manifest heresy in point of doctrine. In all its range 
Italian art never went beyond spiritual subjects; so differ- 
ent, in that respect, from the scope of our modern paint- 
ers.* 



* How completely painting was anciently felt to be a reli- 
gious exercise, may be seen in the very curious " Guide de la 
Peinture," translated by M. Didion from a Byzantine Greek 
MS., said by the monks of Mount Athos, from whom he ob- 
tained it, to be of the tenth or eleventh century, and, in his 
own opinion, of the fifteenth or sixteenth but derived from 
earlier works and representing the views and feelings of the 
eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The work is inscribed 
to the Virgin, in a dedication, which, after some ardent com- 
pliments to her beauty and graciousness, proceeds as follows : 
" Saint Luke, after having been sanctified by the precepts of 
the Gospel, which he proclaimed by preaching and writing, 
desired to manifest to mankind the most sacred love which he 
had for your gracious and divine greatness. He judged, and 
rightly, that out of all his treasures of science and spiritual 
wealth, he could make you no worthy offering except in the 
representation of your admirable and charming beauty, which 
he had contemplated actually with his own eyes. This holy 
and learned personage employed all the resources of colours 
and gilt mosaics to produce faithful representations of this 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 31 

Certainly, one of the most memorable accumulations 
and exhibitions of Art capacity that the history of our 
race exhibits, working out a completely new style or medi- 



image in pictures, according to the rules of his art. I, in my 
turn, a feeble imitator, desired to follow the example of this 
accomplished man, and devoted myself to sacred painting, 
with a belief that my capacity would second my good will, for 
the accomplishment of my duty to your sacred person, your 
venerable greatness, your admirable magnificence." Here the 
beautifying, in pictures, of the countenance of the Virgin is 
considered as an acceptable duty and as a religious service. 

After an address to all painters, follows " Some preliminary 
exercises and instructions for him who would learn the art of 
painting." The first exercise enjoined is, drawing, freely and 
generally. " Next, let him address to Jesus Christ, the fol- 
lowing prayer, before an image of the Mother of God, the 
Virgin the conductress, while a priest blesses him : ' King of 
Heaven," &c. ; then the Magnificat, arT invitatory and the 
Versicles of the Transfiguration ; then let him pronounce aloud 
this prayer," &c. A part of the prayer is, " Divine Lord of 
existence, lighten and guide my soul, and the heart and 
mind of thy servant (N.): direct his hands so that he may 
worthily and truly represent your countenance, and those of 
your most holy mother and all the saints, for the glory, joy 
and decoration of your holy church." "After tlie prayer" 
continues the manual, " let him study the proportions and ex- 
pressions of figures," &c, " Do not begin your work," he 
goes on, "without reflection; but operate with the fear of 
God and with piety, in this art, which was a divine thing." 
" It is a divine work." he says again, " and one which God 
has taught us, as is evident to every one, from a number of 
reasons, &c. This excellent employment was equally accepta- 
ble to the holy Mother of God, and approved by her, as every 
one knows, since she encouraged and blessed the apostles and 
the evangelist St. Luke, on account of his skill, and said to 
him, " The grace of him whom I brought forth is spread over 
them for my sake." And it is not only St. Luke who is blessed, 
but all those who labour in the production of the miraculous 
works, the sacred portraits of the Lord, of the Mother of God 
and the other saints: for this art of painting is acceptable to 
God and favorably regarded by him. So, all those that work 
with care and piety, received from heaven graces and bless- 
ings." It was thus, by exalting his imagination with the idea 
of the Transfiguration, and kindling his heart with prayer 
and benediction that the ancient painter approached his work. 



32 ART, AN EMANATION OF 

urn for the notation of the conceptions of Art and then 
revealing and perpetuating in the language of these new 
forms a thousand ideal sentiments of sublimity and beauty, 
is presented to us in Gothic architecture ; and from it we 
propose to draw the third illustration of the principle in- 
volved in the present discussion. I shall have occasion, in 
another paper, to trace the history and progress of this 
style of Art with some definiteness ; but, for the present, 
it is enough to say, that the first germination of this new 
creative energy appears about A. D. 1050, and chiefly 
among the Normans of France and England, where it 
swelled forth with extraordinary power and vividness ; and 
that, after passing through a regular life, composed of an 
Herculean infancy, a graceful youth, a maturity and an old 
age, it became extinct before the year 1550 : so completely 
dead, that, since that time, in no nation of Europe have 
men been able to compose in that medium ; the forms hav- 
ing ceased to be vital and plastic, and the spirit which once 
animated and disposed them, having departed from the life 
of men ; the language thus being lost, and the sentiments 
appropriate to be embodied in it, being no longer produced 
by the mind. 

It was in the erection and decoration of sacred buildings, 
exclusively, that this new spirit of Art accomplished such 
extraordinary results. The sense that the building to be 
fashioned was to become the home of the Spirit of the 
All-Holy; and the enthusiastic design to raise it to a 
divineness worthy of the shrine of his worship, and to 
stamp upon it a symbolism of the greatness of his power 
and the beauty of his love ; that became the actuating in- 
stinct of this earnest Art. The subject, in brooding upon 
which the conceptions of these men became impregnated 
with the kindling fire of creation, was to them a feeling of 
religion. Devotion was the expanding and exalting influ- 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 33 

ence that wrought within their imaginations. Castles, and 
palaces, and towers and towns were built in those days, but 
it was not in their construction that this style became 
evolved. When matured in ecclesiastical buildings, it, of 
course, extended to other buildings : but it originated and 
grew up and educated itself in the service of the church; and 
every thing in this architecture, whether as respects con- 
structive principles or decorative details, is essentially ec- 
clesiastical. Personally considered, it began and always 
dwelt in the bosom of the church. Its professors were the 
priesthood. Nay, to a great extent, the working masons 
were in minor orders; and capitals were wrought, and 
arches channeled by hands ordained to holy tasks; so sa- 
cred was the whole work considered. 

When you look at the time when this aesthetic overflow 
of feeling took place, you find that it was contemporane- 
ously with a great expansion and agitation in the religious 
emotions of Europe, especially in the transalpine nations. 
A memorable evidence of the excess in which spiritual en- 
thusiasm at that time was generated in society, — of the 
enlargement of holy zeal beyond what the forms, and modes 
and uses of ordinary life could contain or conduct — is fur- 
nished by the crusades, of which the first took place in 
the year 1095. Of course, the feeling, which then came 
to a crisis, had been on the rise for some years before : so 
that the budding forth of Gothic architecture is contem- 
porary with the commencement of one of the greatest and 
most general augmentations or secretions of instinctive 
religious sentiment or passion that the world has ever 
known. Moreover, this movement in favor of the cru- 
sades took place chiefly in France, England and Germany ; 
and the leaders and armies of the invasion were principally 
from those countries, and not from Italy; which comports 
with the fact that this architecture was almost wholly of 



34 

transalpine growth. The religious start in Italy, which 
has given her a supremacy in spiritual things, which she 
has since held, did not take place till the thirteenth and 
fourteenth centuries, and, as already stated, was simulta- 
neous with the rise of painting in that country. 

Another indication of the superabundant religious sen- 
sibility that began to appear about that time, and was im- 
mediately connected with the production of architectural 
works, is the formation of separate, resident monastic esta- 
blishments. This system of a detached corps of monkish 
orders, strictly celibate, devoted specifically to the elabora- 
tion of the spiritual empire of the church, was the work of 
St. Gregory the Seventh, who ascended the pontifical 
throne in the year 1073. The earliest of these monastic 

orders was instituted in the Lamousin in the year . The 

order of Carthusians was established by St. Bruno, about 
the year 1100. Others soon followed. And it was mainly 
in consequence of these associations of men, in a religious 
life of seclusion, that those edifices were erected. Most of 
the chapels and cathedrals in which this architecture was 
used, were parts of monasteries. 

From all this, it may safely be concluded, that Gothic 
architecture was a direct emanation from a growing ele- 
ment of religious fervor ; that in fact it was an aesthetic 
exercise of worshipping feeling; an imaginative effort to 
continue material forms, that should be meet to be regarded 
with sentiments of adoration, and felt to be types of things 
divine. Drawing its animating energy from an overcharged 
religiousness, or superstition, it declined when that spiritual 
force, which once had given it impulse, abated. The date 
of the extinction of this art-inspiration is the era of that 
great diminution of religious feeling, of which the Reform- 
ation is the great social monument. I do not question that 
the Reformation gave us a purer doctrine, a sounder moral- 



RELIGIOUS AFFECTION. 35 

ity, and a better society; but it would be idle to deny that 
it was the result and the record of an immense decrease of 
spiritual sensibility, which had been before then, no doubt, 
for all purposes of utility and knowledge, in excess. But 
it was that very excess, producing a kind of idolatry of 
visible things that were associated with the religion that 
engendered Art. Since the Reformation, that enthusiasm 
and self-dedication, have been spent on industry, science, 
and other temporal engagements, which, before, were con- 
centrated upon religion. 

It is obvious that as far as regards the sacred character 
of the buildings, the same remarks which have been made 
respecting Gothic architecture are applicable to Grecian. 
This art attained its great perfection in exercising itself 
exclusively upon temples ; and thus was a collateral effect 
of religious feeling. 

If the law above stated be correctly inferred, it might 
be expected that a people, whose objects of worship were 
purely abstract and ideal, should be able to exhibit a power- 
ful and brilliant literature, in connection with religion, but 
not to attain the highest eminence in the creation of forms 
of visible grandeur and beauty. Protestantism has never 
produced a great artist. The last of the heroic race of pain- 
ters were Rubens and Vandyke; and both were Catholics. 
The loftiest school of our own day, that of Munich, is com- 
posed either of Catholics or of persons who being Protestant 
at the outset, became Catholic in the process of becoming 
artists. But I reserve the further prosecution of these re- 
flections for a paper in which I propose to consider the 
prospects of this age in respect to Art, at large. 



AET, 
SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 



Art is, in its nature, symbolical, not imitative. 

Those numerous theorists who tell us that Art has its 
origin in the instinctive disposition of man to mimic what 
he sees, and that the interest of Art arises from the pleasure 
we experience in meeting with a lively imitation of some 
real thing, give an account of the matter which is erroneous 
in fact and in principle. They found a hasty hypothesis 
upon the character of Art as they see it in its old age and 
decrepitude; and they assume dispositions in man appro- 
priate to sustain a supposition, which upon examination 
will be found as superficial, as at the first view it may be 
plausible. A reference to the historical origin and progress 
of Art, will establish the law that Art begins in man's 
efforts to deliver himself of his most inward and conscience- 
haunting emotions : that he does this, at first, in a sort of 
hieroglyphic shapes which, though undoubtedly derived 
from visible forms, or partially suggested by them, owe 
their value in his estimation, not to what they really re- 
semble, but to what they are understood to represent; and 
that, although Art, in its advancement, works out its 
meaning through forms based upon the truth of nature, 
yet so long as it is, veritably and progressively, Art, its 
typical and suggestive qualities are always predominant 
over its transcriptive character. 
4 



38 ART, SYMBOLICAL NOT IMITATIVE. 

It is said to be a natural instinct and pleasure of man 
to draw resemblances of things which have struck him in 
the world, as is shown in the dispositions of children and 
savages. I doubt if either one or the other is prompted to 
draw a likeness of a sensible thing by any other feeling or 
motive than that the thing as thus drawn or painted, or 
carved upon his rock or sand, or slate or paper represents 
to him much more than the outward object in its actual 
and material state contains, or is. This fondness in children 
and savages for drawing and modelling, belongs to the 
general system of Expression. Every feeling, every senti- 
ment, every thought, in man, impulsively tends to out- 
wardness or utterance: for, these all are agitations of the 
interior life which are propagated towards the exterior 
organs. As gesticulation, and singing, and talking, are 
modes of giving vent to earnest and natural emotions and 
interests, so is drawing the mute utterance of deep and 
silent movements within the soul, which become typified 
and registered in these outlines. And figures caught from 
nature are adopted for these types, and especially the hu- 
man figure is so chosen, from the obvious circumstances 
that the imagination is more familiar with them, and that 
they are already much associated with the very feeling 
designed to be expressed. But, if in children there be, at 
a tolerably developed age, a readiness accurately to copy the 
forms of objects, for the praise of skill which it acquires, 
which is a part of the process of education, like the learn- 
ing of lessons by memory, to discover what is their earliest 
and strongest instinct in this way, we must go back to 
the age, when, in those endless sports, which "Wordsworth 
finely views as life-rehearsals, they turn all common objects 
and implements into characters and properties of their little 
dramas,— "each" thing, in quick succession " playing many 
parts." Imagination is then so over-powerful that figura- 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. S9 

tive apprehension prevails entirely over sensible perception, 
and the dreams that form their inward life, work themselves 
out in visionary scenes through symbols formed from fami- 
liar articles by the typifying energy of their conceptions. 

The history of art will be found to display the following 
law as to its origin and development. It sets out with a 
symbolism chiefly mental or conventional. This is its 
archaic state. Next, it discovers and works out the in- 
herent capacity of natural forms, when idealized by the 
imagination, to symbolize those spiritual sentiments which 
form the subject of Art. This is its perfect condition. 
Finally, in its last and lowest stage, it forgets its prophetic 
and mediatorial function, and merely reflects the dull ac- 
tual : and this is the state in which art is at the present 
time, and to which it has been tending for two centuries 
and a half. And it must be observed that this law of the 
progress of art, is a law of the continuous diminution of 
spiritual significancy. The religious feeling, — the interior 
meaning to be communicated or represented, — is greatest in 
the earliest epoch ; so great, indeed, at that time, as to exceed 
the capacity of natural forms, however idealized, to convey 
them, and therefore requiring prescriptive types to be em- 
ployed, which makes the comprehension of them partly a 
matter of tradition and learning, or, at all events, limits it 
to the particular race among whom these types are devised. 
Later, when this religious passion, at first almost physical 
in its directness and vehemence, has either by the ex- 
haustion of its own early intensity, or through the increase 
of controlling intellect, or by a social education which 
makes it gentle and ductile, become diminished into a mat- 
ter of earnest sentiment, it grows capable of entering into 
union with purely natural forms in an idealized state, and 
of being completely carried and explained by them. To 
this epoch, of religious sentiment, belongs the perfection of 



40 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

Art. Ultimately, all religious motive vanishes away from 
the schools, and it requires an argument to prove that Art 
was consecrated for a mission somewhat higher than a 
juggling illusion of the senses. 

The symbols that are used in the archaic stage of Art, 
are, no doubt, derived, and partly imitated, from reality. 
But if in part or chiefly they resemble reality, they are 
* also designedly altered from it, in some degree. The type 
thus modified becomes determinate. In its subsequent re- 
productions, it is plain that there is not in the artists' 
minds an intention to approach as near as possible to 
nature, but on the contrary there is an intention to adhere 
to the type where it differs from nature, for the reason that 
it is in those prescriptive variations from nature that its 
typical significance chiefly lies. The type itself, it is true, 
undergoes a certain evolution; but that progress is one 
naturally resulting from the mental reproduction of the 
type by the successive generations of artists, and not caused 
by renewed efforts to copy more closely from nature. This 
derivation from reality also characterizes more or less all 
hieroglyphic and picture languages. The shapes are de- 
rived from reality, but the meaning is chiefly conventional. 
The greatest transition that Art ever undergoes is when 
it passes from the use of partially conventional symbols to 
the universal symbolism of natural forms : but the natural 
into which the type thus passes is always that from which 
originally it was deflected. The philosophy of this new 
condition of the subject lies in the permanent, fundamental 
law, that all natural and real forms have an indwelling 
capacity to serve the imagination in different degrees for 
the representation of moral and spiritual sentiments; and 
the human form possesses this power beyond every other 
object. That principle results from the relations which 
the Creator has established between all the parts of his 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 41 

system ; the how and why, lie among the uncommtmicated 
secrets of existence. It is the foundation of all the glo- 
rious life of high Art. It applies in some to every natural 
and real, or, in the highest sense, useful work, as in an- 
other paper I have stated ; but to the form of man above 
all others. 

But it is not natural forms in their ordinary and actual 
conditions that possess, at least in any high degree, this 
significant and expressive virtue. They must be acted upon 
by the imagination and idealized to that perfection which 
constitutes Beauty, in order to exhibit this power. It is 
the imaginative conception, or ideal of each form, that is 
truly the natural language of Art. To make real forms 
symbolic of the emotions of Art, there must continue to 
be a mental modification of them, but that modification, in 
the complete stage of Art, is the conceptive reaction which 
brings it up to its ideal beauty. Language, whether of 
forms or sounds, must be largely mental in its essence, in 
order to serve as a medium for the mind; and the mental 
quality, that the forms of Art must partake, consists in 
that refining and moulding influence of spiritual imagina- 
tion which makes them ideal; and in proportion to the 
degree of ideal Beauty which any form possesses will be its 
expressiveness in Art. The nature of that ideal modifica- 
tion of real objects which produces beauty, I have touched 
upon elsewhere. 

The principle above stated, that Art begins with an 

intense and highly intellectual symbolism, and then passes 

to the use of an ideal image of some natural form, and 

relies no longer on a conventional significance in its type, 

but on the spiritual influences inherent in the perfections 

of the form concerned, is not notional, but is inferred from 

observation of the arts above mentioned of Greek sculpture, 

Italian painting and Greek and Gothic architecture. 

4* 



42 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

No one familiar with specimens of both styles, will 
doubt that Greek sculpture is derived from Egyptian 
sculpture. They are in fact different stages of the same 
art ; Egyptian sculpture being the archaic state of Greek 
sculpture, and Greek being the perfect state of Egyptian. 
It is obvious to any one who views the colossal images of 
Egypt, which probably in all cases represent deities or 
deified kings, that they are highly symbolical in their pur- 
pose, and in a great degree conventional and fixed in their 
mode of representation. And if we trace Egyptian art 
upward into Hindoo, of which it was probably an advanced 
growth, we find the forms still more fictitious, hieroglyphic 
and conventional. And it will be observed that, in Egyp- 
tian and Oriental archaic art generally, though the figures 
of divine and mystic beings are derived from those of men 
and beasts, yet some arbitrary change or addition is always 
made in or to the figure, to show that it is not meant for 
a portraiture or imitation of an individual person or ani- 
mal, but is the representative of some divinity, or princi- 
ple or feeling. Portions of different animals were com- 
bined together in their sphinxes, which were significant of 
qualities and ideas to which we have not the key. No 
one will suppose that the human colossal figures which are 
there met with, are Egypt's best endeavors to exactly imi- 
tate the figure of man. The human face and form are the 
element from which the representation is derived; but 
they are modified into a peculiar and unvarying shape, so 
as to become a token and sign of some deity or some men- 
tal or moral existence. The same thing may be said of 
their drawings of men and horses, with their crooked faces 
and shadow-like elongation of legs. In these, the effort 
was not to portray men and horses, as accurately as possi- 
ble. Those fixed types, altered from natural objects, were 
the prescriptive symbols of certain matters ; so sacred that 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 43 

no artist might alter them, even to improve their veri- 
similitude or beauty. They were settled by the priests, 
and, like all other early arts, were a matter of religion ; 
and consequently the types in Egypt continued unchanged 
through centuries, being the same at the end as at the be- 
ginning, though the skill in rendering the type varied and 
improved greatly. There is every reason to suppose that 
each peculiarity of attitude, limb and feature was consider- 
ed emblematic of some intellectual, moral or personal cha- 
racteristic. 

It was in this stage that sculpture came under the ac- 
tion of Greek genius. Of the derivation of the early Greek 
school from Egyptian, or rather of its identity with it, no 
one can doubt. View, for example, a Juno which stands 
in the outer room of the Ludovisi gallery at Rome, and 
which belongs to a very remote period of Greek art. The 
hair is bound over the head by a broad fillet, beneath 
which hang short crisp curls like filberts. Behind the 
ears are long stiff ropes of hair coming down upon the 
shoulders. The derivations of this costume from the ex- 
traordinary wig or cap which forms the head-dress of 
Egyptian gods and kings, seems obvious. The forehead 
is smooth, the expression immobile, and the whole aspect 
unmistakably Egyptian. The Glyptothek of Munich, how- 
ever, affords the best opportunity for studying the connec- 
tion between the sculpture of the Nile and the Ilissus. 
The first hall contains Egyptian works; the second, the 
earliest Greek ; and the derivation of one from the other 
is obvious. But in the sculptures from the temple of 
Jupiter in iEgina, which occupy the third room, we have 
the metamorphosis in the very act of taking place. The 
heads of the figures are Egyptian ; all alike ; all with those 
thick lips which give an appearance of smiling. But the 
limbs have the freedom, nature and brilliance of pure 



44 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

Greek art. The reason of the similarity and immobile 
expression of the heads is to be found in the prescriptive 
sanctity of the type appropriate to the half-divine beings. 
And it may be observed that the figure of Minerva, in the 
centre of the pediment, is more antique and Egyptian, 
throughout, than the others, as if less liberty could be' 
taken with the personal image of a being fully divine. 

The process of the change from one to the other of 
these styles, appears to have been, that in reproducing and 
improving the symbolic, under circumstances of greater 
freedom from the priestly superstition that kept it un- 
changeable in Egypt, it was at length brought to an excel- 
lence so striking, that its inherent beauty was felt to have 
a higher power of kindling sentiment than the outworn 
prescription of an exhausted symbol. But Greek Art 
always retained a certain symbolism in the appropriation 
of a special style of ideal to the different grades of gods of 
the higher class, and gods of the lower class and heroes and 
men, and of particular elevated types of feature to each 
god : and we probably trace in the fixed, abstracted, pen- 
sive countenances of the Greek divinities, the lingering 
influence of that mysterious Egyptian face, with its calm, 
strong, brooding look of Fate. 

In the Etruscan nation, which was partly Oriental in its 
derivation, Art ran a corresponding cycle, showing that 
the evolution which in Egypt and Greece had been illus- 
trated in the case of statues, was strictly normal and natu- 
ral, being essentially the same with that which in Etruria 
occurred in drawings upon vases. The earliest Etruscan 
style has Egyptian characteristics; its later is purely Gre- 
cian. I presume the explanation to be, that according to 
the ordinary development of imagination, in the progress 
of national" civilization, under similar circumstances, the 
Egyptian type and style would be improved into the Greek. 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 45 

In Italian painting, this symbolic condition of the in- 
fancy of Art, and the gradual passage outward into nature, 
ideally elevated, is clearly traceable. Italian Art is derived 
directly out of Byzantine Art, which is the first school of 
modern painting. To speak of the constant symbolism of 
the pagan Art that was adopted by Christians in the early 
period, is beyond the range I have prescribed to myself. 
But it may be observed in passing, that the whole of that 
style was entirely symbolical. Enter the circular church 
of S. Costanza near Rome, erected by Constantine, and the 
brilliant mosaics in the ceiling, representing grapes, vine 
leaves, birds, &c, will seem to identify a heathen dwelling, 
until you learn that all of these are Christian emblems! 
In other mosaics of that period, the Saviour is scarcely 
ever exhibited in his real aspect as a man, but under the 
likeness of a lamb, a fish, &c. But all this style is to be 
considered as Pagan Art applied to Christian purposes. 
The beginning of genuine Christian Art in painting,— the 
infancy of that art which grew to perfection in the fifteenth 
and sixteenth centuries, was in the school of Byzantium. 
That was the first time that Art undertook to represent, by 
visible lineaments, the spiritual characteristics of the Chris- 
tian life : and this style thus had from its feeblest com- 
mencement a new and even antagonist principle of life from 
! the degraded Roman Art which it superseded. It was as 
; if a wind from one quarter, long failing and fitful, had at 
j length died away, and a current from an opposite direction 
| had begun to come out. And this I take to be in truth, 
the first germ, in history, of that splendid Art of painting 
which we justly set with pride against the sculpture of the 
Greeks. For notwithstanding what has of late years been 
said respecting the merit of the Greek paintings discovered 
at Pompeii, I must adhere to the opinion that painting, as 
we conceive of it, is exclusively modern and Christian. If 



46 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

the frescoes in theMuseo Borbonico are examined, they 
will be found to be nothing else than sculpture drawn upon 
a flat surface. In conception, manner and effect, they are 
altogether different from painting as illustrated in Italy, 
and are essentially statuary. 

The period of the origin of this Byzantine style may be 
fixed in the ninth century, when the vehement dispute 
respecting images having been decided in favor of the 
practice of representation in a special way, gave rise to a 
class of purely religious and emblematic paintings, through 
the medium of human types. This new Art was entirely 
an ecclesiastical pursuit : the modes of representation were 
settled by the church, and it was practised exclusively by 
monks. The -purpose of this style is particularized by this 
original and special characteristic, that it undertook to ex- 
press or denote, by the manner of the features and limbs, 
the moral graces of the divine and saintly characters. It 
took its outlines, of course, from the degraded Roman Art, 
then existing; but it used them with a new intention and 
effect. The heads of saints were depicted with meagre, 
sorrowful, ascetic expressions, which are not to be regarded 
as attempts to imitate in the best practicable way, the 
natural, visible beauty and dignity of the human face, but 
to indicate the mortification, self-denial, and carnal humil- 
iation, which were the virtues glorified by the church. 
The beauty contemplated was altogether inward and men- 
tal. So, in the scene of the crucifixion, the Saviour was 
drawn emaciated almost to a skeleton, a mode of figuring, 
long maintained among the early German artists, among 
many of whom, such as Wolgemuth and Albert Durer, a 
certain asceticism of purpose is discernible. Sir Joshua 
Reynolds remarks, upon one of these pictures, that the 
early artists seem to have painted the crucifixion, upon a 
supposition that the Saviour died by starvation. The pur- 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 47 

pose, really, was to symbolize to the thought that subdual 
of all natural and personal glory and vanity, that victory 
over the flesh, its pride, its boast and its enjoyments, which 
were identified with the Redeemer's merit in that transac- 
tion. This style, thus symbolical in character, and intel- 
lectual in significance, was prescribed and conventional in 
its methods. The modes of representation were fixed by 
ecclesiastical authority, so that it was not lawful to change 
them. They form, in effect, a hieroglyphic language, em- 
bodying theological meanings, and speaking to the mind, 
rather than the senses. It appears from the " Manuel 
d'Iconographie Chretienne," translated by M. Didron, and 
before referred to, that particular directions for representing 
every scene and subject that the painter was permitted to 
treat, was given in the monkish manuscripts from which 
the paintings of that day were made. And it may be re- 
marked, as a curious fact, that the subjects and the method 
of treating them, which are found throughout all the 
schools of Italy and Germany in the fifteenth, sixteenth 
and seventeenth centuries, are quite the same as those con- 
tained in M. Didron' s manuscript; rendering it perfectly 
clear that they were derived from some such ecclesiastical 
precepts. 

It was upon the types of this Byzantine school, that the 
infant genius of Italian Art began to work in the thir- 
teenth century. It was in reproducing their forms and 
countenances, under a condition of increased freedom from 
the superstitious rigor of symbolism, and with a more 
genial sympathy with the nature whence those shapes and 
faces originally were drawn, that the earliest movements of 
creative power were manifested in pictures. Let us recur 
to the Madonnas of Duccio di Siena, in the church of San 
Dominico in Siena, and Cimabue, in the Novella at Flor- 
ence; taking the former, especially, as a monument, be- 



48 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

cause it is the oldest existing picture, or moveable Work, of 
an Italian artist, and bears the date A. D., 1220. Any 
one familiar with the Byzantine specimens which remain 
in the Italian galleries, will at once see that these are en- 
tirely of that school in their style, and differ from good 
specimens in nothing but the increased degree of nature 
and humanity* that softens and animates the faces. It is 
simply the frozen or petrified type of womanhood, which 
had been preserved like a mummy under the huge robe in 
which the Virgin was represented, now gradually melting 
and relaxing back into life and consciousness. But Byzan- 
tine in style as these works are, they are all Italian in the 
power of their inspiration. It is rather the mode, at pre- 
sent, as in Dante's day, to exalt Giotto at the expense of 
Cimabue; but it seems to me that, in reference to the 
time when he wrought, the latter deserves to be considered 
as one of the mightiest and most original geniuses that 
ever appeared; fit herald of the coming of Leonardo and 
Michael Angelo ; the flaming morning-star of a day that 
spread from the Gulf of Naples to the Adriatic, bright 
with the splendors of Rafael, Correggio, Titian, and Domi- 
nichino. The Madonna in the Santa Maria Novella is, to 
my feelings, a work of exalted and ever-during merit, 
worthy to be carried, at this day, in triumph- through the 
streets. It is a great work, in comparison with any age; 
and has more inspiration than could be gleaned from all 
the pictures that have been painted in Europe in the two 
last centuries. In the east transept, for the church runs 
north and south, stands this celebrated work. It is very 
large. The Virgin, of colossal size, is seated on a throne, 
holding the infant in her lap. Her robe and head-dress 
are extremely dark, and bordered with gold. Her face is 
of a natural form, and full of beauty and expression; the 
eyes open and large. The child, whose right hand is held 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 49 

out, with two fingers extended, in the attitude of benedic- 
tion as practised in the Latin Church, is a fine figure. 
Along the sides of the picture, are six kneeling forms of 
angels, in various positions, freely and excellently drawn ; 
with countenances of heavenly loveliness, and in attitudes 
highly graceful. A spiritual power pervades the work, 
which stamps it as the production of a truly great artist. 

Giotto, however, is a name justly memorable, on ac- 
count of the prodigious advance which he made in leading 
Art in the direction of life and reality, — qualities for 
which he was more remarkable than for spirituality, and 
in which he was not universally followed by the most 
eminent of his immediate Florentine successors. Fortu- 
nately for the greatness of the Florentine school, its pas- 
sage into perfect nature was postponed for nearly two 
centuries. That interval shows a constant progress, under 
many varieties of manner, in developing the riches of 
conception, and the resources of form and composition. 
We may note two classes of these artists : those who were 
pre-eminently spiritual, such as Fra Beato and Orcagna; 
and those whose bias, like Giotto's, was to the actual, such 
as Filippino Lippi, Benozzo Gozzoli, and Cosimo Roselli. 
The two characters were best united in Masaccio. But in 
the works of all these artists, until we come to Leonardo, 
more or less of the old conventionalism stiffens the figures 
and distorts the composition. Something of the archaic 
symbolism, which, in giving intensity to inward expression 
and significance, made the attitudes and grouping awkward, 
was always visible. But at last, by Leonardo da Vinci, 
the conceptions of Art were embodied in forms entirely 
natural in character, movement, and condition. In the 
productions of that wonderful man, the spiritual and the 
real were brought into union in a harmony the most abso- 
lute. From that time, Art spoke the universal language 
5 



50 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

of nature. He is the author of this great transition, and 
the father of the perfect school of Art. Then quickly 
followed Michael Angelo and Rafael, and the style was 
irrevocably established. Much of the freedom and actu- 
ality of manner which Leonardo and Michael Angelo insti- 
tuted, was derived from their anatomical studies, and from 
their practice in modelling and casting. But the general 
transition was principally stimulated by the re-discoveries 
then made of the ancient works of Greek sculpture, nearly 
all of which had been lost beneath the rubbish and mould 

of centuries. 

In the older works of Era Beato and Perugino, the faces 
are little else than calm mirrors of passive mental sweet- 
ness and purity, and the figures serve for little but to sus- 
tain the faces. If the countenances form deep and satis- 
fying studies of spirituality, it is no objection that the 
attitude or action be not altogether life-like. In like man- 
ner, in that earlier school, we meet with many instances 
where, although the forms may be accurately and finely 
drawn, the composition is wholly spiritual and symbolical, 
and not in the least historical or dramatic ; as in pictures 
where the Madonna is seated on a throne, with one or two 
saints on either side of her. These seem to be derived 
from a more ancient style of representing the Madonna on 
a central panel, and two or four saints in separate com- 
partments adjoining her. Then the removal of the divid- 
ing frames placed the holy attendants in rows beside her, 
as is common in Perugino, and is sometimes found in 
Rafael, as, for example, in the Madonna di Foligno. The 
composition does not pretend to represent anything that 
did or might take place. Saints of the most various times 
are brought together around the mother and infant. The 
parties are not attending to one another. Each stands 
wrapt in meditation. The impression and interest of each 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 51 

are meant to be spiritual; and the company represents 
nothing but an aggregation of pious contemplations. In 
the succeeding style, figures are brought together only as 
taking part in some consistent and probable action, as in 
Correggio's St. Jerome. 

• The truth and greatness of this new and perfect style 
rest upon this principle or law : that the forms and scenes 
of life, viewed of course ideally, possess capacity to em- 
body and represent all spiritual sentiments. In another 
department, Shakspeare has shown that society, as it moves, 
illustrates moral truths more accurately, fully, and strik- 
ingly than any dissertations could reveal it. But to have 
this representative power of instruction, it must be viewed 
and rendered imaginatively; and in reading or seeing 
Shakspeare's dramas, one knows not which to consider 
more remarkable, the truthfulness to nature or the vivid 
imaginativeness of conception by which that high truth is 
brought out. The living greatness and intellectual power 
of that dramatist lie in the naturalness of his characters 
and scenes, and in their immense elevation above the later- 
ality of the actual. To form the consummate manner of 
Leonardo and Michael Angelo, a common approximation 
took place between the spiritual feeling on the one hand, 
and the natural form on the other. The human figure 
was conceived of, with a dignity, variety, expressiveness, 
and grandeur fit to indicate every spiritual feeling; and 
the spiritual was apprehended no longer in the abstract 
and morbid manner formerly prevailing, but in a concrete, 
personated, and individual style. The spirituality is iden- 
tified with character, and treated illustratively instead of 
directly. But the spiritual still is the great and para- 
mount subject of the artist, and living forms are but the 
medium of its display. 

If we were compelled to assign an explanation of the 



52 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 






almost instantaneous decline which this great Art under- 
went in the middle of the sixteenth century, — the loss of 
inspiration that befell it like the accident of a moment, — 
we should connect the declension with that change in the 
purpose of artists, by which the imitation of the real came 
to be considered the substantive object of Art, and not the 
manifestation of moral truths through the means of the 
natural. When in the sedulous study and elaboration of 
living forms, undertaken, at first, to make them serve a 
higher function, the painter became fascinated and satis- 
fied with the mere realization of the outward and visible, 
then Art fell like lightning from the heaven of its divine- 
ness. In Leonardo, Michael Angelo, and Rafael, every 
limb, every feature, every action, — all that enters into the 
outlines, the composition, and the light and shade, — is 
significant of something mental. After them, the material 
and visible predominates over the inward and suggestive. 
Parts, or the whole, are painted, for the effect on the senses, 
not the influence of the soul. And now, critics teach and 
artists practice, upon the maxim that Art consists in the 
most life-like transfer of objects from reality to canvass. 
To paint a figure, or other object, in such a manner that it 
shall look in every respect like the thing itself, and almost 
be mistaken for it, is the disgraceful boast of modern Art. 
Landscape, no doubt, belongs to the declining day of 
Art's inspiration. The shapes and scenes of the inanimate 
world are unfit to be the vehicles of the fervid, deep, impe- 
tuous emotions of the early and strong hours of the life of 
art : the human form and face, only, can supply them with 
a language. Landscape, therefore, begins under the reign 
of later and milder sentiments. Claude, Salvator and 
G-aspard Poussin appeared a century after Rafael. Still, 
according to its capacity, landscape, in its best days and in 
the hands of these masters, has clearly a symbolical charac- 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 53 

ter ; and is representative or suggestive of certain appropri- 
ate moral sentiments. The horror of the sombre forest is 
made tributary to an effect of fierce crime, bitter remorse, 
gloomy contemplation or savage cynicism ; the vivid morn- 
ing betokens enterprise in commencing action ; the noon 
speaks of broad, bright, happy safety and contentment ; 
the evening breathes domestic quiet, pensive meditation 
and sweet repose. This moral purpose and effect of land- 
scape are conspicuous in the great early masters I have 
named. The first grand landscapes that we know of, were 
created to increase the moral interest of a living composi- 
tion which was itself the direct and main theme of the 
painter. These are contained in the Peter Martyr of 
Titian, in the church of San Giovanni e Paolo, in Venice, 
and in the Saint Jerome in the Desert, in the Brera at 
Milan, (No. 6 of the catalogue,) from the hand of the same 
various and all-accomplished artist. In the former of these, 
how significantly the scenery augments the sternness of 
the deed, yet supplies the higher view of the saintly suffer- 
ing. The light streaming down from the open heaven 
upon the dark trees, kindles them with a lurid illumina- 
tion : terror fills the woods ; but above, the placidness of 
the dark blue sky explains and justifies the providence 
which permits the barbarity. In the other, the matted 
hemlock trees which imprison the praying eremite, and the 
mass of light which, beyond him, pours in from the deep 
heaven, with its whitish clouds, exemplify the inward 
condition of the solitary wrestler with sin. In all of 
Claude 7 s landscape the emblematic meaning is obvious. 
He usually adds some subsiduary composition of persons, 
to point the inherent design; and most of his pictures have 
received, from himself or others, some allegorical name. 
The same thing is yet more apparent in Salvator, whose 
scenes have an irresistible effect on the imagination, and who 

5* 



54 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

often introduces figures to aid in representing the sentiment 
of the landscape. Take, for example, the two black and 
wild, but most powerful Salvators in the Marquis of 
Westminster's collection in London; Democritus contem- 
plating the end of all things, — seated in a gloomy wood 
with a heap of skulls and bones at his feet, and Diogenes 
about to throw away his wooden cup on seeing a man drink 
from a spring without one. The landscape effect in both 
of these is principally and powerfully moral. When you 
pass to the woods and fields of Buysdael and Both, you 
find that the charm of the scene still lies in the indication 
of sentiment. It is not, perhaps, a spiritual, or even moral 
sentiment; it may be only a natural one. But still, in 
their works, the character of landscape art is, the produc- 
tion of some imaginative feeling through the medium of 
an ideal scene. 

At present, we live in a time when landscape is almost 
the only growth that Art has strength enough to put forth, 
and landscape, only in that last and lowest stage in which 
all mental significance, is lost, and nothing but an illusive 
imitation of objects, for themselves, is valued; as in 
Achenbach. 

The law, that Art begins with an invented symbolism, 
then takes up actual forms as the basis of ideal creations 
for the embodiment of profound sentiments, and at last 
loses sight of every such secondary meaning, and merely 
reproduces the real form for its own purpose of its utility, 
with such fantastic decorations as can be accumulated upon 
it, is also illustrated in the history of architecture. Gothic, 
Boraan, Greek and Egyptian architecture are to be viewed 
as constituting but one vital and continuous trunk ; each 
having grown out of its predecessor. Egyptian architec- 
ture is clearly thus far symbolical, that its structures are 
not imitated from any dwellings actually used at the time, 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 55 

Ibut are constructed upon some remote or imagined type, 
adapted to denote the gloom and mystery of a sombre reli- 
gion. If Mr. Hope's conjecture be just, that the type of 
Egyptian buildings is the cavern hewn out of the rock, 
with upright supports left standing to sustain the roof, 
that architecture undoubtedly belongs to the first, symbolic 
stage, for such excavations assuredly did not form the con- 
temporary habitations of that people, and probably did not 
even at the earliest times. The cavernous style of India 
and Egypt, as well the style of the Druids, was probably 
mystic in its character, and designed to produce awe. On 
the other hand, Chinese and Greek architecture belong to 
the second stage, when familiar and actual forms are ideal- 
ized for the type of structures ; the former using the tent, 
and the latter the cottage. The Greeks borrowed the 
column and entablature, with some attending elements, 
from Egypt, but applied them up to a form, which, to 
them was a natural and familiar object of life, the cottage. 
Roman architecture was merely Greek architecture worked 
with such modifications as the use of the arch, in connec- 
tion with the entablature introduced ; and it was the mix- 
ture of two incongruous principles that made that style so 
false. When Gothic passed out of Komanesque, took up 
the arch alone, and, therewith, developed a consistent and 
harmonious system, it seized the familiar and immediate 
form of the Basilica, and expanded and idealized it into the 
Cathedral. In both Greek and Gothic architecture, forms 
previously in use were adopted as vehicles of the religious 
sentiments which either style embodied ; of wide, sustained 
and graceful majesty in the one case, and of long-drawn, 
lofty, still-receding vastness and solemnity in the other. 
Architecture, now, has no fixed character at all. It merely 
continues and repeats old forms, sometimes of the temple, 
sometimes of the cathedral; without any reference to 



56 ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 

imaginative or moral effect, and aiming only at some clever- 
ness in copying the original which it produces. 

Before leaving this law of the transition of art from con- 
ventional symbolism suggested by nature, into pure and 
perfect natural and common forms, it may be noted that 
this transition has taken place commonly when art, in its 
former state, has past over to some other people, by whom 
the sacred immutability of the symbolic type is felt with 
less rigor. It is only the artist of some other, though kindred 
country, less imbued with reverence for the model, who 
feels freedom to improve it by human amendments. Thus, 
the forms of Egyptian sculpture were brought up to con- 
summate nature, only when they passed from Egypt into 
Greece ; and Byzantine symbolism in painting became freed 
and fashioned into human beauty, not in the East, where 
its shapes are still a religion, but in Italy where they were 
but a prescriptive model, not an all-sacred sign. 

I have gone through this investigation for the purpose 
of arriving at one critical principle in art. It might have 
been easy to produce conviction, by a comparison of exam- 
ples, that that style of art, which, like Michael Angelo's, 
lightens forth mighty truths, solemn lessons, piercing 
judgments, is higher than that which transcribes a horse, 
a dog, or a rock, so faithfully that you are first surprised, 
then amused, and finally disgusted at the deception. But 
the historical survey we have made, furnishes us with an 
inductive demonstration, a scientific certainty, founded on 
the origin and growth of art, that its nature and essential 
function, are, to communicate spiritual impressions, to 
represent and thereby awaken moral emotions, to signalize 
the principles of the interior and higher life ; and that 
natural forms, — the human figure and the human counte- 
nance, — furnish in the most complete condition of Art, the 
types and language of its meaning, only because of their 



ART, SYMBOLICAL, NOT IMITATIVE. 57 

fixed essential adaptation to represent and convey, through 
a sympathetic medium and with sympathetic power, every 
variety of spiritual excellence that can have a personal ex- 
istence. It follows, therefore, incontestably, that those 
modern schools of art which rest in mere transcripts of 
actual and visible objects, seeking no ulterior suggestive 
effect, but aiming only at illusive imitation, is wholly from 
the native and appointed purpose of Art. Those who paint 
in that way, are not occupied about Art, at all. The modern, 
critical principle, which recommends and applauds the most 
real and life-like imitation of figures, is false and erring. Such 
toys, as are thus produced, do not even form the language 
of Art; for natural forms must be re-cast in the imagination, 
and exalted by the reflection of the mind, before they enter 
into the symbolic dialect of inspiration. In proportion as an 
artist makes his figures, actual and real in appearance, he 
diminishes their aesthetic significance; and when he accom- 
plishes an effect of deception or illusion, he has set the seal 
of dumb imbecility upon his work. The modern condition 
of Art is directly opposite to that primitive state of things 
which existed in the days of Cimabue and Duccio di Siena. 
Art had then too many ideas for its power of expression; 
now, it has no ideas whatever to express. In that former 
Art, the fervor of in-dwelling ideas gradually raised and 
perfected the forms through which those ideas sought 
utterance; in this, the cold reality of form extinguishes 
all suggestions of ideas. The one was quick with the 
glories of Leonardo, Michael Angelo and Rafael; the other 
is smitten with incurable barreness. 






THE LAW 



DEVELOPMENT OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 



I have already spoken of that aesthetic inspiration of 
which Gothic architecture is the great monument; and 
have shown that it was one of collateral manifestations of 
an expanding and soaring increase in religious feeling in 
Transalpine Europe. A minuter attention to the condi- 
tions under which that vital energy evolved itself, advanced 
through continuous stages of progressive life, and then 
stagnated and became extinct, will throw some light on the 
psychological nature and laws of Art. 

In tracing such a history, it will be found that this crea- 
tive spirit showed itself almost simultaneously in England, 
France and Germany ; a little later in Italy, the Nether- 
lands, and probably Spain ; modified more or less by na- 
tional circumstances in each country. It was the outflow 
of the genius of the race in these regions. No individual 
persons can be named who made this or that advance. It 
may be said to have evolved itself, by steps taken instinct- 
ively and blindly, here and there, but constituting, when 
connected, a harmonious and definite progression. Ema- 
nating from a part of our nature much less abstract, volun- 
tary and conscious than the intellect, its advance may be 
called a veritable growth. Like religion itself, of which 



60 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

it is a flower, it seems to shoot forth from the aggregated 
sympathy and intelligence of kindred nations. 

Another important matter to "be noted is, that this new 
style of Art developed itself directly out of that which 
had existed before ; and each successive phase of it was 
derived immediately from the preceding one. The crea- 
tive spirit of this Art began to move and manifest itself 
before the new types and forms that afterwards became 
identified with it were produced. At first, it clothed itself 
entirely in the old shapes of an outworn Art; expanding, 
amplifying and newly connecting them, however, into a 
capacity to give expression to its meanings. Gradually the 
combinations and modifications of these forms, which its 
operations made, educed new ones, which then became the 
winged and sympathetic language of this eloquent inspira- 
tion. But the spirit came first, and not the forms ; and 
the spirit created the forms which it required for its uses. 

The first marked and unmistakable manifestation of 
Gothic is the Norman architecture, which originated about 
Caen, was brought at the conquest, into England, and 
there received a splendid series of developments. This 
grew entirely out of the Romanesque architecture of the 
preceding centuries, which had shaped itself from the 
ruins of Roman Art. The Gothic cathedral took its form 
and members from the Basilicas of Rome, which had their 
nave and side-aisles, clarestory, triforium and a tribune or 
choir, which was generally apsidal. The Gothic builders 
altered the proportions of these members, and produced 
new and peculiar effects, but the formal elements which 
they used were those which had been employed before. 
Even the characteristic ornaments of the Norman are old. 
The zigzag, or cheveron moulding, appears in Adams's 
drawings of the palace of Diocletian, at Spalatro. Be- 
sides, this Norman movement in France and England, 



OP GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 61 

there had been, a little before, and about the same time, 
an activity in the purely Romanesque architecture, as in 
the older parts of the cathedral of Mentz, which yet have 
little or nothing of a Gothic character. But the Norman 
architecture of England, while it is Romanesque in its 
forms, is thoroughly Gothic in spirit and character, and is 
properly to be regarded as the first full style of that archi- 
tecture. I can imagine nothing more completely from 
all rational purpose, than the discussions which have been 
carried on, about the origin of pointed architecture and 
the pointed arch. If those who have contended for this 
or that source of the pointed arch, under a supposition 
that the origin of pointed architecture was involved in that 
inquiry, had explored the great Norman cathedrals of En- 
gland, they would have found that Gothic Cathedral Ar- 
chitecture, in every one of its characteristic qualities and 
impressions, was developed and established before the 
pointed arch was used. In its constructive principles, in 
its imaginative conception and effect, in general aspect and 
in particular detail, the Norman architecture of England 
is, perfectly, Gothic architecture. Let any man view the 
nave of Durham Cathedral — one of the mightiest and 
most sublime of the structures of man, yet light, and rich 
and various, with the ease and power of a creative senti- 
ment conscious of resources inexhaustible — the nave and 
transepts of Ely — the nave and some other parts of Glou- 
cester — and he will never doubt that English Norman is a 
genuine style of Gothic. The fact, that in nearly all the 
English cathedrals, a part of the building is in the Nor- 
man style, and the rest in early English, decorated or per- 
pendicular, and that all these parts unite and harmonize in 
a concord the most delightful, proves that they are entirely 
homogeneous. The same thing is demonstrated, more con- 
clusively, by the circumstance that the Norman nave of 
6 



62 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

Winchester, constructed in , was altered in , 

mto a } by merely a superficial chiseling. The 

only considerable difference in the Norman is that the 
arches are round ; hut that and other differences do not 
separate it from any one of the later pointed styles more 
than they are discriminated from one another. Though 
this style seems to have begun in Normandy, and been ad- 
vanced with some force in France, England is the region 
in which it swelled forth with an enthusiasm and an ener- 
gy, in infancy, prophetic of the mighty exhibitions its ma- 
ture life was to display. In Germany, its shoots were 
feeble. Bamberg Cathedral is, perhaps, one of the best 
specimens. 

There was a great progression in the round arched Eng- 
lish Norman 5 and its later forms grew far more light and 
delicate, and enriched than its earlier. Finally, it passed 
into the pointed. It had lasted from the conquest, in 1066, 
for about a century and a half; and then, about the year 
1200, the pointed manner superseded it. No one, I think, 
can traverse England and see the principal ancient church- 
es and cathedrals of that land without forming a firm opi- 
nion that the pointed style grew naturally and easily out of 
the later Norman. Notwithstanding the numerous plausi- 
ble treatises that have been written in favor of other hy- 
potheses, an observation of a number of early buildings 
satisfied me that the use of the pointed arch, in this archi- 
tecture, was suggested by the intersection of round arches, 
in galleries, and ornamental arch-courses. The question 
is not of the invention of the pointed arch, which was 
known long before, but of its employment in Gothic archi- 
tecture. A strong illustration in support of this theory 
may be seen in the Chapter-house of the Cathedral of Bris- 
tol, which was also the Chapter-house of the old Monastery 
of Augustine. Nothing can exceed the architectural splen- 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 63 

dor and luxuriance of that apartment, which is purely 
Norman, though the richest and most beautiful specimen 
that I know of. It belongs to the date A. D. 1140. There 
is a long range of intersecting circular arches round the 
walls; and, where they intersect, it is opened, above and 
below; thus forming narrow pointed arches of great beau- 
ty. All the other arches in the room are round. As an 
evidence of the richness of this Norman example,— above 
the stall-arches, the space is richly paneled in diamonds. 
View, also, the choir and transept of Canterbury Cathe- 
dral, where round and pointed arches are mixed in a way 
that shows that at that date they were used indifferently 
and in union. The style of that part of the building, one 
acquainted with English specimens would probably call 
Norman, but with pointed arches freely employed in it. 
In the Temple Church, at London, any one looking at the 
range of arches in the upper part of the circular portion 
of that structure would be at a loss to decide whether the 
architect primarily intended round or pointed arches, or 
did not equally intend both, alternately. The lower part 
of the building is composed of pointed arches, and the 
upper gallery is, probably, an instance of pointed arches 
having their mouldings carried along the wall so as to form 
full circular arches, rather than of a range designed to be 
round, accidentally discovering pointed arches by intersec- 
tion. It is, therefore, perhaps, an example of lingering 
upon round arches after the pointed were set entirely free; 
but whichever way it be looked at, it is an evidence of the 
close relation of the round and pointed manner. A consi- 
deration which indicates such intersection of round arches 
to have suggested the pointed style in Gothic, is that the 
form of the pointed arch, when it thus first came in, and 
during the whole period called Early English, is extremely 
narrow, or lancet; just the shape produced by such inter- 



64 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

section, and entirely different from the forms of the East- 
ern arch, which are broad. The English arch grew wider 
in later times, by embracing several associated lancet arch- 
es. Any one who studies French or English Gothic his- 
torically, will not be inclined to adopt the theory of an 
oriental origin of the pointed style. The hypothesis which 
represents the pointed arch as evolved from the necessity 
or convenience of groining elongated areas, still acknow- 
ledges the use of this arch to be self-developed from the 
inherent tendencies and capacities of the style. 

When, in the progress of working round-headed arches, 
the imagination of the Gothic builder became acquainted 
with this new type,— -this new formal element of combina- 
tion,— the tall lancet arch, it obviously suggested a new 
and appropriate conception of design and composition. 
And it is chiefly in composition and ideal conception, that 
the Early Pointed differs from the Norman ; and it was 
that arch that led at once to the soaring, and shapely and 
slender constructions that succeeded. Then rose to heaven 
the gleaming needles of Salisbury's long arcades j whose 
arches seem to be hung down from the skies rather than 
raised from the earth; whose fearlessly up-springing shafts 
are a perpetual chant of Sursum Corda ; creating an ever- 
upward current of feelings. Then swelled on high the 
vault of Amiens ; fit to be the portal of a world above. 
Then shot into the clouds, the arrowy flights of Cologne's 
luminous choir windows, lost in a vision of gorgeous hues, 
as the dazzled sight droops from its straining gaze. 

.... Aerias telum contorsit in auras, 
Ostentans artem pariter, arcumque sonantem. 
— Yolans liquidis in nubibus arsit arundo 
Signavitque viam flammis, tenuesque recessit 
Consumta in ventos. 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 65 

The Norman style had previously worked itself out of 
the massive and cavernous heaviness of its first manner 
into a more elegant and delicate lightness ; and each one 
of its members was ready to undergo that modification 
which adapted it to enter into the unity of the Early En- 
glish effect. The piers or pillars, for example, of the 
later round-arch style in France and England had departed 
from the single thick cylinder of the early period, into a 
combination of four or more round pillars encircling a 
central one ; and the transition from this to the clustered 
pier of the Early Pointed was gradual and easy ; and the 
moulding which represented the connecting band of these 
several shafts, became the ring so characteristic of Early 
English. An usual style of arching in the Norman and 
Romanesque, was to include a triplet of little arches un- 
der one embracing arch ; and when the Large arch became 
pointed, and these smaller arches were pressed together, 
the central one was lifted from its feet, and the whole were 
brought up against the sides of the including arch ; and 
then, coalescing with it, they formed the trefoiled arch, 
one of the most pervading and peculiar of the Early En- 
glish elements. In like manner, the cheveron became sharp- 
ened into the tooth ornament. 

This new style, which prevailed about a century, gradu- 
ally expanded, and grew more solid, and received richer 
and heavier decorations ; the arches widened, and the pier 
grew broader ; and, finally, it passed into a new type, the 
Decorated, sometimes called the Perfect Gothic ; though, 
according to my taste, it is the later and richer forms of 
the Early English, which in purity, expression and beauty, 
display the perfection of the Gothic Art. But the deriva- 
tion of this variety, out of its predecessor, was natural and 
continuous. In the windows of the Early English, par- 
ticularly as it advanced, we constantly find a combination 

6* 



66 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

of two arches under one containing arch, with a trefoiled 
circle, or several such, or some similar figures, in the head. 
In the decorated, all these coalesce into a single window, 
or arch ; the dividing shafts being thinned away into ver- 
tical mullions, and the heads of the included arches and 
circles or trefoils or quatrefoils combining into one com- 
plex and flowing figure, by a transition which, in France, 
where chiefly it was evolved, may be traced with an abso- 
lute conviction of certainty. At the same time, to suit 
this widened type of window, the piers, which before had 
maintained the indications of a cluster of distinct shafts, 
now ran together into one somewhat monstrous figure. 
Another element, which perhaps is the most striking and 
uniform characteristic of the Decorated style, is the angu- 
lar pediment or canopy raised over the s arch. This ap- 
pears to have been a simple intrusion into the Gothic, of a 
Roman or classic form, and probably was caught from 
Italy. But Gothic Art, then, had vigor enough to assimi- 
late it to itself and work it up into its own system. It set 
crockets and a finial upon it, and, like a convert to a new 
faith of art, it became one of the most orthodox and con- 
spicuous members. This is • the style which is the most 
widely spread throughout the continent ; and in Germany, 
it continued to the end ; for though it grew more expanded 
and richer, and more adorned, even to capriciousness and 
bad taste ; yet, in that country, no new, distinctive style of 
Gothic appeared, In England, however, and in France, 
there remained enough organizing or germinative energy, 
to produce, in each country, one further and peculiar type, 
as the last flash of Gothic inspiration. These are the Per- 
pendicular in England, and the Flamboyant in France. 

The fortunes of the life of the later Gothic seem to have 
been principally influenced by the introduction of panel- 
ing; which was ; no doubt, of classic or Italian derivation. 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 67 

It is found copiously in the later German Gothic, but it 
did not enter into a vital and modifying connection with 
it ; it merely mixes with it subordinately. In England, 
the chief peculiarities of the Perpendicular may be refer- 
red to its taking up and incorporating into itself, the form 
and principle of rectangular paneling ; — the setting of 
arches in panels, and the running of paneled bands and 
galleries around and across other members. The vertical 
mullions in the heads of windows, which became one of the 
most popular signs of that style, arose obviously from the 
mixture of rectangular paneling with arches. That verti- 
cal kind of tracery was probably first worked out in screens 
and galleries, from putting arches into, panels, and was 
then applied to windows. But the earliest perpendicular 
compound windows are formed by running up a square 
paneled frame between the subordinate arches which form 
the window. However, when once this union of vertical 
lines in tracery was effected, its varieties of course became 
endless. The origin of the transom, which in England 
seems peculiar to the Perpendicular, but on the continent 
is constantly found in the Decorated, is easily explained. 
In the French cathedrals, where the effort seems to have 
been to reduce the walls as much as possible to windows, 
probably for the display of painted glass, in which that 
country excelled, we find the triforium and clerestory so 
much expanded and connected that the interval between 
them becomes merely a tablet or a little gallery. In the 
ends of the nave and transepts, where the arrangement 
actually passes into one great window, this little paneled 
or arched gallery still runs across, and gave rise to tran- 
soms, which in England are narrowed down into plain bars, 
but on the continent are often found as veritable little gal- 
leries. 

The peculiarities of the French Flamboyant style are by 



68 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

no means confined, as is often supposed, to the flowing and 
flaming tracery in the heads of windows, which would 
make it only a late and full style of Decorated. In gal- 
leries, screens, staircases, &c, it evolves an original, defi- 
nite, and extremely agreeable style of Art. No one can 
look at the curious, circular, porch-like fagade of the church 
of St. Maclou, at Rouen, or the brilliant staircase in the 
west corner of the North Transept of Rouen cathedral, 
which leads into the library, or the splendid but mutilated 
remains of the Bourbon chapel in the cathedral of Lyons, 
without agreeing that the Flamboyant had its own true 
germ of life, and that it is one of the most vital and genuine 
of the French types of Gothic. Mainly, however, and in 
what it differs specifically from the ordinary Decorated 
style, it is characterized by a wavy and very luxuriant style 
of paneling. 

The latest Gothic in all countries might fitly be called 
the Paneled Gothic; the paneling being rectangular or 
vertical in England, and wavy in France. 

The inquiry, whether France, England, or Germany is 
entitled to the honor of having developed the Gothic style, 
is equally jejune with the search after the foreign sources 
of the pointed arch. When the discussion of a question 
leads only to perplexity, it may be concluded that the 
question does not truly arise, or is not properly put. This 
architecture was developed concurrently in France and 
England. The transition from Norman to Early Gothic, 
and thence to Decorated, consisted in several alterations; 
and a careful examination of specimens in the two coun- 
tries makes it probable, that some particulars were worked 
out in one country, and some in the other, and that all 
being consistent, and belonging to the same advanced 
stage of the style, they were united into one new type of 
Art. For example, in the Early Pointed, while I am in- 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 69 

clined to think that England worked out the pointed arch, 
and established the corresponding system of composition, I 
should infer that France contributed the slight clustered 
pier, because those combinations of slender columns sur- 
rounding a larger central one, out of which it grew, are 
more general in France, and continued there longer, as if 
they were native to the soil. But, upon the whole, I 
think that England is fairly entitled to the merit of some- 
what leading France in the development of the Early 
Pointed system, as a complete style of construction, and a 
new character of Art; because, as far as I can determine, 
the English buildings in this way are a little earlier in date 
than similar ones in France ; and because the late and light 
Norman, out of which I think it sprang, was brought to 
that pregnant fullness and force in England only ; and be- 
cause it nourished long and purely and proudly on Eng- 
lish soil, whereas in France it passed almost immediately 
into Decorated. But if England may make this boast, 
France justly claims the creation of the Decorated. The 
wide arches in which it deals are connected with that love 
of transparency which caused the French builders to make 
large windows a principal feature in their cathedrals ; and 
the progress of window-head tracery may be followed step 
by step in France, which cannot be done in England. 
This style soon became European. The Norman, Early 
English, and Perpendicular are essentially English styles, 
the first and last almost exclusively so ; the Flamboyant is 
French; the Decorated is continental. In England, the 
number of buildings in this last style is small, in compari- 
son with those in the other three manners. But viewing 
Gothic in its entireness, it is in England and France that 
the rich resources of that Art were developed ; and Ger- 
many adopted, employed, and illustrated the style, rather 
than created it. I cannot repress my surprise that Mr. 



70 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

Hope should have maintained the opinion that Germany is 
the native land of the Gothic, chiefly on the ground that 
the German cathedrals are greater and finer than those of 
any other country. That very circumstance is an indica- 
tion the other way. They are grander and richer and 
more gorgeous, because the builders of them were dealing 
with a style of Art whose capacities were then fully 
brought out, and afforded an almost boundless choice of 
elements. The composition of the elements of Art in a 
vast edifice is a different matter from the evolution or 
creation of those elements as forms capable of a congruous 
union into effective compositions. In that sort of combi- 
nation, the architects of Cologne, Strasbourg, and Fri- 
bourg, deserve great applause, but little or nothing in 
those buildings belongs to the history of the development 
and perfecting of the types and aesthetic materials of Gothic 
Art. The formation or improvement of an alphabet or 
language is a distinct affair from the creation of lofty 
works in it, when it has become settled. Mr. Hope's 
architecture is valuable for the progress of building from 
the time of Constantine till the appearance of Gothic ; but 
this latter he had not studied historically or minutely. 

The evasive uncertainty and illusive interest of this in- 
quiry as to the country which developed Gothic architec- 
ture arises from certain mental laws of Art, or rather laws 
of the mind in respect to Art, which are not always con- 
sidered. If any one studies architectural specimens on 
English, French, or even German soil, exclusively, he will 
probably make up his mind that the development took 
place in the country to which he is attending ; because he 
will see there a continuous and natural progression, and a 
regular series of all the transitions that the Art, in its 
general history, has gone through. Yet many of these 
advancements, which seem to be growths of the spot, may 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 71 

have been derived from abroad. For the adoption of a 
foreign novelty in Art is not a mechanical importation of 
a material object, it is the mental incorporation of an ideal 
influence; and the mind, in taking into itself any new 
type, always, by its inherent laws, recasts it into an assimi- 
lation with its own natural and previous conceptions, and 
reproduces it under modifications that ally it to pre-existing 
apprehensions. It does not take up the novelty as a new 
starting-point for its labors ; it works its old forms under 
modifications derived from the new suggestion. So that, 
while there is a vital energy in the mental constitution of 
Art, in any land, the progression of Art there will have 
the appearance of being self-evolved, though much may 
have been imitated from a distance. This, of course, is 
while there is a life of Art-power at home ; for, if that is 
completely dead, foreign forms come in, entirely, or by 
piece-meal, by a process differing little from local trans- 
portation. 

"While the continent and England thus co-operated in 
the elaboration of Gothic architecture, the former excelled 
in those great fabrics which make the glory of medieval 
construction, and the latter worked the successive styles 
with greater purity, and realized in them a finer discrimi- 
nation of character. Purity of style probably consists in 
combining only those elements which are stricMy homo- 
geneous, and tributary to one impression or sentiment : 
and to seize the characteristic expression of each element, 
and bring it out the most justly, and in conjunction only 
with matters that co-operate to the same effect, accom- 
plishes a purity that is essentially classic ; and this is to 
be seen in England as no where else. Its Norman had a 
clear, definite, and most solemn grandeur ; awing the sense, 
arresting the imagination in an expectation of something 
to be revealed from a call to reverence, so emphatic and 



72 THE LAW OE THE DEVELOPMENT 

impressive. The ordinary Romanesque of the continent 
exhibits nothing like this. In England, the Early Pointed 
differs from the Decorated in moral significance, in imagi- 
native impression, in inherent ideal sentiment. View, for 
example, the north transept of York Minster, with its 
great window of lancet arches, called the Seven Sisters ; 
or the long chapel of the Nine Altars at the head of Dur- 
ham Cathedral, forming a second transept, the most ex- 
quisite specimen of Early English in the kingdom ; what 
romantic grace of melancholy tenderness, what pensive 
charm of wasted elegance, — like some ballad tale of ne- 
glected and enduring sentiment, — hangs around the scene ! 
The passage from this to the Decorated style of the nave 
of York is a change from the presence of a love-lorn, 
gentle maiden, to the company of an expanded, happy 
matron. So, in England, the latest Gothic of Henry the 
Seventh's Chapel, St. George's at Windsor, or King's Col- 
lege Chapel, has a wholly different character, and a dis- 
tinct ordonnance of lines, from the Decorated Chapter 
House of Ely. Whereas, we are not conscious of any 
such change of sentiment or effect in passing from the 
early to the middle and thence to the late Gothic, in 
France and Germany ; these vary, not essentially in tone 
or significance, but only in the degree of fullness and rich- 
ness. Ijp the English cathedrals, these strongly discrimi- 
nated styles are placed side by side ; the rule apparently 
being, that every kind of new erection, or change, or addi- 
tion, should be executed in the manner that was prevailing 
at the time. They are juxta-placed, each in its own fixed 
character, but they are never confused together. Thus, in 
the beautiful Early English choir of Ely, three arches 
nearest the cross, which had been destroyed by the fall of 
part of the tower, were rebuilt in a rich Decorated manner 
in the fourteenth century. Salisbury is almost the only 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 73 

cathedral in the kingdom which is in a uniform style. 
The others are patchworks of several, sometimes of all the 
four styles. England is the country in which to study 
the language of this architecture in all its varieties ; but 
the finest works in it, though produced in some instances 
after the language had grown a little debased, are abroad. 
The English cathedrals are of wonderful interest and 
beauty, but rather from the surpassing excellence with 
which the styles are illustrated, than from the combined 
richness and expression of the whole. In England you 
admire the elegant perfection of arches, piers, screens, or 
windows ; in France your mind is lost in the magnificence 
and power of the entire combination. But if England's 
cathedrals are inferior to those of France, they are more 
beautiful than anything else in the world. Durham and 
Ely and Winchester and Salisbury, what needs the soul of 
man more impressive, glorious, transcendent than these ? 

There are some differences in the arrangement of the 
French and English cathedrals. In the latter, the last 
end is commonly square, which allows of a great window. 
The continental choirs are generally apsidal, with chapel- 
flanked aisles flowing continuously round them. This cir- 
cular termination is retained from the old Basilicas and 
Romanesque churches. Almost the only square-ended cathe- 
dral that I recollect is Laon. In France, the clerestory 
and triforium windows are of much greater size and extent, 
constituting almost walls of glass ; so that the illumination 
is very complete. Colored glass accordingly forms a strik- 
ing characteristic. Much of it is of great antiquity and 
well preserved. The splendor and beauty of the hues are 
wonderful. On the continent, the exteriors, and particu- 
larly the facades, are much more showy than in England. 
The profusion of wide flying buttresses, which in the latter 
7 



74 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

country, are not very common, give the French and Ger- 
man cathedrals a striking aspect. 

I have traced these brief notices of Gothic architecture, 
not for the purpose of giving an exposition of this style of 
building, but to illustrate by such a review, some of the 
characteristics and laws which belong to the development 
and natural history of art. Gothic architecture, like Italian 
painting, is not so interesting from its inherent beauty as 
on account of the light which it throws upon the laws of 
the mind in one of its most curious departments. In the 
paper on the schools of painting, it will be seen that the 
same principles are manifested in the case of a kindred 
faculty, and I have there discussed them somewhat more at 
large. 

From the remarks in a previous paper, it appears that 
this creative spirit was an emanation or outworking of re- 
ligious sentiment existing in excess ; and that when this 
excess corrected or discharged itself at the Reformation, 
the life of architecture went out. 

The circumstances in regard to this architecture, noted 
in the present paper, indicate that art proceeds from an in- 
spiration pervading society in certain nations or regions. 
The collective mind of a whole community appears to be 
the seat of this creative instinct, and individuals in differ- 
ent places and successive times are the organs of certain 
progressions and improvements in the art, which, when 
viewed together, are found to have a systematic connection 
that the separate agents neither knew nor intended. 

It appears also, from the example of Gothic architecture, 
that every movement in art, whether it be such a move- 
ment as is the beginning of a new style, or such an one as 
is only a progression in that style, proceeds out of the art 
which was existing before. In the mental history of society, 
there is a perpetual continuity, and the relation to previous 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 75 

conditions are stronger, in proportion as the matter belongs 
more to the instinctive and less to the abstract faculties. 
Art is a result of the affections working intellectually; and 
the progress of any art forms an unbroken trunk. New 
influences, new particulars, may come athwart the progres- 
sion, and be worked up into and with that which was 
before ; but some fibres of connection run through every 
transition. 

It is further to be noted, that while the vital force of 
Gothic architecture continued, it had in it a constant prin- 
ciple or impulse of progression and evolution, so that each 
progress brought with it still a tendency to push forward 
into a further stage. The early Norman advanced into the 
late Norman ; the first style of early English grew into a 
subsequent manner considerably different; and so there 
was an early and a late Decorated ; and an early and a late 
Perpendicular. This unconscious progression in the type 
of an art ; this successive reproduction of the style under a 
modified variety, and not repetition of an unaltered form, 
is one of the most important laws of Art. It furnishes a 
certain test of vitality in Art; and when there is no con- 
tinuous progression, in better or worse taste, but merely 
stagnation or capricious and unconnected shootings in this 
or that direction, the life of Art is gone. It indicates, also, 
that Art is the growth of a living element, — the development 
of a natural germ of creative force. It suggests, too, that 
every gift of art-genius in a nation, necessarily works itself 
out to exhaustion : and it explains why artist-power always 
exists or is found in occasional inspirations or schools. 

When the moral force of the Gothic principle was spent, 
architecture no longer threw itself into other and further 
stages of existence, but lingered upon itself, and grew 
luxuriant and corrupt. At length, Italian sentiments, 
ideas and forms came athwart it, which it had neither 



76 THE LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

character enough to resist, nor re-active energy enough to 
subdue and incorporate; and its long glorious career was at 
an end. You may trace, by monuments, almost the year 
and day of this demise. It was between the commencement 
and the completion of King's College Chapel, at Cam- 
bridge. It was between the erection of the chantries of 
Fox and of Gardiner in the choir of Westminister Cathe- 
dral. It was between the date of the erection of the fagade 
and the towers of the Cathedral of Tours. When Gothic 
Art admitted an infusion of Italian principles, it grew de- 
praved upon the instant; and when it lost its purity, it 
forfeited its inspiration. Then succeeded a long era of 
oppressive bad taste, from which we happily have been re- 
lieved for the last half century, by having no taste at all. 

Since Gothic ceased to be an inspiration, sundry small 
attempts have been made to build in it, — chiefly in the 
poorest style, — the perpendicular; and two great attempts, 
Orleans Cathedral and the New Parliament Houses. 

The Cathedral was begun by Henry IV. after the year 
1600, and is a respectable but cold imitation of previous 
works without a spark of creative interest. If any one 
would see the difference between an architecture that is yet 
vital, and one that is merely mechanical ; between a form 
created and a form combined ; let him compare the Cathe- 
dral of Tours with that of Orleans, which is closely model- 
ed from it. The styles of both are similar ; and in both 
there prevails throughout a unity in style. But the unity 
of one is made up into a variety as exhaustless as it is de- 
lightful ; that of the other is a wearying monotony. The 
architect of Tours makes no two of his window-heads alike ; 
he diversifies them by differences of every sort that are 
consistent with their prescribed character; he groups them 
variously; he introduces galleries which, themselves, are 
full of fine diversities. But, chiefly, he gives freedom and 



OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 77 

originality, and the glow and grace of an animated existence 
to his work by moulding it upon certain sentiments of 
spiritual grandeur and beauty, which charge the whole 
structure with significance and glory. Though dealing 
with fixed elements, he combines them into a rich, impas- 
sioned, eloquent result. In Orleans, there was no foregoing 
instinct of a feeling or a truth to be embodied or represent- 
ed. It is a meaningless geometric figure, filled up with a 
tedious repitition of arches, minted in the same die. 

Or, let any man, make the circuit of French or English 
cathedrals, and then place himself on Westminster Bridge, 
in front of one of the most boasted structures of modern 
times. I speak not of the vicious taste which has misap- 
plied to a great political edifice, that extremely ornate 
style of perpendicular which is adapted only to chapels, 
chantries, or at most to a choir. Viewed as a composition, 
or creation of form, the new Parliament House, grandiose 
in dimensions and gorgeous in decorations, shows not one 
ray of invention, not one touch of original conception, not 
one suggestion of sentiment or one breathing of life. It 
resembles a cast-iron stove on a great scale, or a cast-iron 
railing in which a common-place form is repeated insipidly 
without modification. Chartres or Ely is a tree, growing 
freely and boldly, encountering obstacles, and surmounting 
or working them in with an energy that makes deviation 
a new and higher illustration of principle, exhibiting a 
thousand beauties of light and shade by its interlacing 
branches and its flowering foliage, glittering with dewy 
freshness, and full of the song of birds. The Senate House 
is the same tree, dead, and re-constructed by the rules of 
carpentry into a large, ornamented box. It is not unfitly 
called a monument of Gothic art; for it announces the 
death and sepulture of that whose merits it was raised to 

display. 

7* 



THE 

PRINCIPLE OP BEAUTY IN 
WORKS OF ART. 

[AN UNCORRECTED FRAGMENT.] 



The philosophy of taste has become little else than a 
system of verbal confusion, because it has dealt in meta- 
physical conception upon a subject that is experimental 
and actual. " The Beautiful/ ' as a mental essence is an 
empty and unprofitable notion. The attempt to explore 
the inherent nature and constitution of Beauty is idle. 
But we may reasonably investigate the law of the develop- 
ment or derivation of beautiful forms. 

There are indefinite varieties and degrees of beauty in 
different objects; and the attempt to draw a line of defini- 
tion which shall include all beauty on the one hand 
and exclude nothing that has beauty on the other, will 
cause the failure of all theorists who endeavor to impound 
the Beautiful in their hypotheses. But in some material 
arts, we meet with examples in a style which our senti- 
ments, and the history of the world, concur in indicating 
as the practical perfection of beauty in the subject con- 
cerned. This highest beauty is the matter which in Art 
we seek for, and the only valuable inquiry is, what is the 
method through which it is pursued, and what are the rela- 



80 THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY 

tions under which it appears. When moulded into forms 
of such beauty ; matter has power to make a direct address 
to our highest and finest sentiments : like the animated 
features of a person, it becomes representative of emotions ; 
it telegraphs thoughts and feelings into our spirits, with 
an immediateness, decision and distinctness, greater than 
the rational powers of language can exhibit; it touches 
notes of sympathy which cannot reach, because they lie 
beyond the sweep of intellectual apprehension. 

This high, perfect beauty has never been reached but in 
one way; by the imagination taking up some natural or 
useful form, and reproducing it according to the imagina- 
tion's own elevating and improving conception. This power 
of beautifying forms in the process of reflecting them,— of 
transmuting them into elegance by conceiving them— is 
the inherent property of imagination, resulting from its 
rational constitution; it differs in different persons, and he 
who is most largely dowered with this brightly-moulding 
reactiveness of spirit, is the greatest artist. Beauty, then, 
is an imaginative image of some real form. But the natu- 
ral, or useful, in its highest sense, is the necessary base of 
the highest beauty; and the recognition of nature and 
utility, that is reality and meaning, must extend through 
every part of the work, and if there is any member, or de- 
tail of ornament, which the imagination cannot refer to 
nature or connect with some purpose or significance, the 
beauty is of a low, base kind, nearer to disgust than de- 
light. When ornaments that have not a natural or rational 
connection with the work are added, a debased beauty is 
produced, gratifying only to false taste. 

Why the high and true beautiful can be derived only 
from the real and practical, no reason need or can be 
given. The observation that it is so in the great examples 
of such beauty that the world has seen, is enough to war- 



IN WORKS OF ART. 81 

rant us in concluding that this is a general law. But, it is 
in accordance with the constitution of life. The actual as 
conceived by the intellect gives us science, and the actual 
as conceived by the imagination may give us beauty. As 
the justness of the inductive method is founded in the cir- 
cumstance that the connections of things, which the reason 
makes in following its own notions, do not result in truth, 
but that we must follow the indications of nature to attain 
it, so it seems that the forms and combinations which the 
fancy contrives, never reach that beauty, and that adaptation 
to human feeling, which may be found by adhering to the 
suggestions of reality. No forms but those of nature and 
utility can have the rational unity and homogeneousness 
necessary to produce that instantaneous effect upon the 
spirit which is essential to the highest effect. 

A representation of reality must therefore be the basis 
of every subject of art, and of every ornament connected 
with that subject. As for the elevation and modification 
which reality must undergo from the imagination in pass- 
ing into the beautiful, the character of that change lies 
hidden within the veiled chambers of the intelligence itself, 
which no eye may inspect. Under the inspirations of feel- 
ing, the exalting and vivifying and illuminating powers of 
imagination are almost boundless. The reflection of an 
object in a pure, clear lake, reproduces it in all its truth, 
but refined, and recast into some degree of beauty. When 
an object has passed before the senses, and the memory 
would again present it to our attention, the form, thus re- 
vived, though the same, is another. But when Imagina- 
tion new creates the image, under the influence of some 
emotion, such as reverence, love, or admiration, which 
urges it to brighten, and raise, and glorify the object, it 
comes forth, as it were, transfigured, spiritualized, made 
perfect. This is the beauty-bearing function of Imagina- 



82 THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY 

tion; and this explains why it must act under the instiga- 
tion of the religious sentiment, — which includes the whole 
family of those sentiments which revere, admire and love — 
in order to realize the perfections of Art. 

How was the beauty of Greek sculpture derived ? The 
imagination, acting on a real object, the human object, and 
conceiving it with the pleasurable glow of a natural and 
cheerful worship, evolved those examples of excellence. 
Those who suppose that there is one absolute standard of 
beauty of form, existing in the spirit, and that this is 
'approached or touched in some of the great models of 
Greece, are following the reveries of a vicious and exploded 
metaphysics. No account can be given of the proportions 
and prevailing curvatures of the Apollo, the Hercules or 
the Venus, than to refer them to the idiosyncrasy of the 
imaginative mating of the sculptor's mind, in which they 
were cast. There is nothing absolute in them as types of 
abstract perfection. These examples of beauty are very 
numerous; they vary greatly from one another; all have 
some specific merit; there is none of which it could be 
said, " Nothing can go beyond it." 

But the object which these remarks have principally in 
view is to point out the law upon which depends the special 
excellence of Greek architecture and of Gothic architecture 
of the best times, over some other styles, especially the 
Roman and modern Italian. It is this; that all the orna- 
ments are derived immediately out of the actual constitu- 
tion and nature of the structure, and are, to the imagina- 
tion, but reality modified into elegance without departing 
from its own truth. 

Take, for illustration, the highest and most classic type 
of Grecian architecture, the Parthenon. In the first place, 
the basis of the entire form was a real and familiar object, 
the Cottage. As for the proportions, they can only be 



IN WORKS OF ART. 83 

referred, as in the case of sculpture, to the imaginations of 
the architects reproducing this form under the influence of 
certain sentiments of simple majesty, chaste elegance or 
luxuriant richness ; and they were, therefore, as various as 
the resources of their imaginations, which were boundless in 
conception. The whole system of ornament depended upon 
displaying to the eye the actual construction of the build- 
ing, and incorporating into permanent decorations those 
appropriate adjuncts which in the actual use of the fane 
were wont to be connected with it. All that is the decora- 
tive is directly founded upon the real ; and retains that 
suggestion of nature and utility which gives it meaning 
and truth. The triglyphs, afterwards in the Ionic, the 
dentils, represented the termination of the rafters when the 
structure was of wood ; the guttoe 

[Here apparently a small part of the MS. is lost.] 

The wide-spreading roof, upheld by long colonnades, was 
intended to give shelter to the worshippers as they thronged 
to the celebrations. In fact, the conception of the temple 
is not that of a close building surrounded by an appendage 
of columns; it is that of a roof sustained by a colonnade 
upon a platform and having in the centre a small enclosure 
for sacrifices. Such character and purpose are wholly falsi- 
fied in applying this form to modern building service, 
where the walls form the real limits of the building, and 
the side colonnades are but a superfluous addition. In the 
Parthenon nothing was adventitious ; every thing had rela- 
tion to nature, use and meaning. 

When you come to Roman architecture, the matter is 
different. The use of the arch brought in a new principle 
of construction and support; yet in apparent effect the 
Greek style was adhered to. Hence, all became imposture. 
The arch was concealed; false entablatures were fabricated; 
and as the true elements of the building could not be shown, 



84 THE PRINCIPLE OP BEAUTY 

to form a basis of decoration, ornaments wholly foreign and 
fanciful were heaped on. The same remarks apply to the 
revived style which flourished in Italy after the downfall 
of Gothic in the sixteenth century. 

The Gothic, as we have seen, worked itself out of the 
Romanesque ; but finally it attained this characteristic of 
true beauty, that all its decorations grew directly out of 
its construction, by an evolution not only natural but 
almost necessary, and were therefore homogeneous with it. 

As for the general relation between the mental concep- 
tion of the building, and the illustration of that conception 
in the construction, it must be recollected that the essen- 
tial, germinal principle of difference between the temple 
and the cathedral, is, that the former is built for exterior 
effect, the latter for interior. On occasions of worship, the 
multitude surrounded one edifice, but filled the other. 
The temple has, as regards architectural impression, really 
no interior at all ; for the small cella or naos which hid the 
penetralia, entered not at all into the effect of the struc- 
ture. From this difference in character and design, the 
whole diversity between the characters of Greek and 
Gothic forms and decorations may be derived. To the 
former, viewed from without, an aspect of elevated repose 
must belong ; and all the decorations must be superficial. 
The elaboration of an impressive and inspiring interior led, 
necessarily, to soaring height, and a general upwardness 
of all the courses ; to long-drawn vistas, side by side ; to 
grand portals to give entrance, and a multitude of windows 
to give light; and to a general style of decoration, con- 
cave, receding and perspective. 

The Cathedral, in its general form and arrangement, is 
not a fanciful contrivance \ it is but an imaginative expan- 
sion and modification of the Basilica, which had been 
framed for utility and convenience. In regard to decora- 



IN WORKS OF ART. 85 

tion, taking it at the period of its perfection, everything is 
derived out of reality, and is representative of truth. I 
have already intimated that the maturity of the Early 
English era embodies the highest beauty ; it will be found 
also to illustrate the greatest degree of this sort of actu- 
ality. That elegant clustering of the piers, for example, 
is not a fantastic scolloping of a circular form ; it grows 
from a genuine combination of distinct shafts to which the 
architects were led by the desire to produce an effect of 
indefinite elevation in their interiors. The nave piers sus- 
tain the longitudinal and transverse arches and ribs both 
of the aisle and nave vaulting ; but while the pier was a 
single cylinder, there was a complete break, and even op- 
position, between its plain roundness and the multitudin- 
ous arches that rose from it. To obviate this, each arch, 
above, was furnished with its own small column, from 
which it rose without interruption. Thus the pier became 
a group of attached pillars, each running up into an arch- 
moulding, so that the eye was carried up the shaft, which 
bent inward as it ascended, and instead of seeming termi- 
nated by the arch, appeared prolonged into it. These 
combined shafts then became the Early English pier, the 
capital of which is a mere band to retain the shafts ere 
they begin to diverge ; a purpose more clearly intimated 
by their being other little bands or rings placed around 
the cluster at several points. And it is because all this 
appears clearly and truthfully in the Early English, and 
is obscured somewhat, when in the Decorated, the clusters 
run into one, and still more, when, in the Perpendicular, 
some of the faces become flat, that our taste seems justi- 
fied on fixing in the period of Early English, the rational 
perfection of the beauty of Gothic. Again, the exquisite 
rib vaulting and groining of the ceilings, is a mere display 
of the actual principles upon which the building is held 
8 



86 THE PRINCIPLE OF* BEAUTY IN WORKS OP ART. 

up. And in regard to foliation and tracery, the matter to 
be noted as the chief characteristic of the best days of 
Gothic, is, that the ornamental elements are but the great 
constituent parts of the building on a smaller scale. They 
are arches and parts of arches ; they run in combinations 
of lines described by the compass. They are not contri- 
vances of fancy, or importations from other sources, they 
are derived from the organization of the building. This 
gives not only a homogeneity to every part, but a sobriety 
and genuineness that deserves to be called classic. When 
you pass from these geometrical decorations of true Gothic 
to a style of ornament like that in the windows of the Or 
San Michele at Florence, where roses and arabesques fill 
up the vacant surfaces, you are aware at once of the inter- 
vention of false taste. Gothic architecture, in its true 
condition, is a character of Art as genuine and pure, and 
as firmly founded in principle as Greek ; and if it be less 
beautiful, — which I readily admit, — it is because the type, 
itself, the arched interior, is not capable of illustrating so 
high a' grade of natural beauty as that of the columnar and 
entablatured exterior, though more expressive of moral 
and spiritual conceptions. Roman architecture, ancient or 
revived, is really a debased and promiscuous thing. 

[The residue of the MS. which appears to have extended to 
some length, is, unhappily, not found among the Author's 
papers.] 



THE 



CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 



To one who loves to view those works which serve as 
registers of man's nature and feelings in the past, no 
structures upon earth are more interesting than the Gothic 
cathedrals of Europe. Shrines of the piety of the years 
that are gone ! Vast as the enthusiasm of those who 
reared them : soaring as their hopes ! Solemn and beauti- 
ful, and eternal as the life they represent. 

I shall endeavor to give some description of certain 
edifices of this kind in France, Germany and Italy. 

EHEIMS CATHEDRAL. 

The Cathedral of Rheims is one of the grandest and 
most memorable in France. The town lies in the lowest 
part of a wide hollow plain ; and as you come towards it, 
this enormous structure, looming up fully two-thirds of its 
height above the general level of the houses, looks like a 
great cloud hanging above the city; something that be- 
longs to the heavens rather than the earth. 

Of the decorated splendor of the western front, where 
every course and moulding runs into richness, and which 
blooms and blushes with beauty, it is difficult to speak 
justly. Flowering and luxuriant as it is, the distribution 
of the parts is regular, and the unity complete. The 



88 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

whole of the face below the towers is arranged in three 
grades or stories. The wide base is composed of, appa- 
rently, five arched portals, tinder crooked canopies or pedi- 
ments, forming, together, a kind of frame, which rises 
pyramidically in the centre. The two at the ends, how- 
ever, are only low buttresses faced with arches ; the three 
inner ones being the veritable portals. These are extreme- 
ly deep, and are narrower as they recede ; their vertical 
mouldings are enriched with rows of statued saints, nearly 
of life-size, and the arches are strung round with range 
after range of somewhat smaller sculptures. The pedi- 
ments over the doors, and also the faces of the false portals 
at either extremity, are loaded with reliefs. The arch- 
heads of all the portals, which are very lofty, contain cir- 
cular windows of coloured glass, the central one having a 
wheel of great magnitude. The middle story consists of 
a broad pointed window, almost wholly filled with a huge 
wheel ; and on either side of it two tall, light, airy open- 
work lancet windows. Above this, a range of sculptured 
figures standing closely together on little pedestals, within 
open shrines, and larger than life, runs like a scolloped 
band or crown along the top of the whole facade. The 
towers, which are of an elegant open work, like that at 
the sides of the great wheel-window below, are carried up 
one story above the front, and there terminate a little im- 
perfectly. The pyramidal arrangement is attended to, 
throughout, with great delicacy and effectiveness. The 
sheath of the front narrows with each ascending story, and 
the upward line of the building recedes in the same way. 

Of that style of illustrated or animated architecture, in 
which sculpture is worked up profusely, the front of 
Rheims must be allowed to form a very successful exam- 
ple. To me it is less agreeable, because less natural and 
consistent than the method, more common in England, and 



RHEIMS CATHEDRAL. 89 

to be found in the earlier buildings of France, which uses 
purely architectural forms of geometric characters. But 
since statuary was to be largely employed — according to 
the type then prevalent — its assimilation with the organic 
outlines of the compass and square, in the present case, 
certainly show great knowledge and a mastering genius. 
The composition of the whole facade exhibits a varied and 
luxurious invention, a nice sense of proportion, and a 
power to dispose multitudinous details into grand and 
orderly masses, by which simplicity is restored to a combi- 
nation that otherwise might have become embarrassed. 
As your eye returns over the whole facade, or lingers upon 
the brilliant effects which its many combinations develop. 
You cannot but admire the creative vigor which could 
marshal and group the elements of sculpture and of archi- 
tecture into union without mixture, and in a manner to 
co-operate without losing their distinctness. The lowest 
story or base, consisting of the portals, is exceedingly rich 
with sculpture, and is the heaviest part of the whole front. 
In the middle range, with its central wheel-window and 
the open lancet arches on either side of it, there is no 
sculpture, except half a dozen figures between, and at the 
outsides of these. Above this, the third story, in its line 
of kings, prophets and apostles, returns upon sculpture, 
yet in a manner lighter and simpler than that which pre- 
vails about the portals. Then rise on high the towers, in 
airy openness, altogether free from figures. Thus, the 
first and third stories correspond in being chiefly sculptu- 
ral, but the higher one much less copiously so ; the second, 
and the towers, in being purely architectural ; the second, 
however, which allies the first and third, has enough of 
sculpture to keep up the sense of consistency and connec- 
tion between them. Thus a series of sculptural and archi- 
tectural courses, interposed in an ascending and dimin- 

8* 



90 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

ishing range, carries you from the gates of the church, 
around which earthly life clings, into the pinnacles above 
the church, which no mortal form may scale, and which 
may be visited only by the viewless angels from the air. 
The clear geometric spaces of the towers and of those parts 
of the second story which fall under the towers — wholly 
free from statuary — intervene with agreeable effect, to ven- 
tilate, as it were, the holy crowd that clusters about the 
front of the sanctuary, and to interrupt that oppressiveness 
which such a dense multitude even of saintly and apostolic 
humanity might have caused. In the second range, and 
in the towers, you have chiefly openness of effect ; in the 
third range, made up of niched figures, you have closeness : 
in the base, where the tall deep doors are separated by 
walls made up of sculpture, you have openness and close- 
ness finely alternating. This is like a succession of lights 
and shades in a picture. I touch but a few points of the 
interest and beauty of this noble front. Like all other 
cathedrals that were built while Gothic architecture was 
yet a living and plastic essence, it must be studied, in its 
combination and unity, as a creation of inspired art \ the 
forms and figures which it deals in, being but the elements; 
whose significance is derived from the moulding shapes in 
which they are disposed. Thus dealt with, architecture 
becomes a symbolic medium of spiritual meaning, of ima- 
ginative suggestion, not less ideal and prophetic than 
music, painting or song. In the rich and grand impres- 
sions which this remarkable front evolves, one may see, 
as in an opera of Mozart, an ever-gushing sensuousness of 
melodies, controlled, regulated and toned down by a yet 
mightier and more commanding power of harmony. 

On entering the left-hand door of the front, you are 
struck by the uncommon height, length and width of the 
aisle that expands before you, and are awed by the glimpse 



RHEIMS CATHEDRAL. 91 

which you get of the nave with its richly colored clerestory 
and bluish triforium. As you advance under the nave, 
the vastness of the fabric, modulated into simplicity, dig- 
nity and strength, comes upon you like the deep, slow, 
thunder-tones of a mighty organ. It gave me the impres- 
sion of being the largest cathedral I had ever seen. The 
altitude both of the nave and the aisles is unusually great; 
and they are separated from one another by circular columns, 
each of which has four smaller ones attached to it. The 
capitals are low, and the arches that spring from them are 
stilted ; elongated I mean, and running vertically a good 
way before the bend begins. The piers nearest the front 
door, and the piers of the cross, are more numerously clus- 
tered, and run continuously to the top. The nave-aisles 
have no chapels, but between their windows are clustered 
columns, which have in their centres, the ring peculiar to 
early English; and the clustered piers at the cross, which 
go up to the vault, have three such rings in different parts 
of their height. The capitals of the several columns are of 
rich leaf and grape-bunch mouldings, and are of a yellow 
color, probably painted ; yet resembling the fresh tones of 
the Caen quarries, of which some of the English cathedrals 
are built. Two of the mouldings of each arch are of the 
same color. The ribs of the roof, in like manner, are yel- 
low, and the vault is blue, starred over with gold fleur-de- 
lys. 

The architecture of the building is, for the most part, 
uniform throughout. The triforium is a gallery of single 
pointed arches, resting on single detached circular columns 
of good size ; and having the inner wall, behind, of a blue 
or other dark color. The clerestory consists of a range of 
large arches going up to the vaulting of the roof; and each 
containing a circle enclosing a seifoil, in the head, and 
under it two pointed arches. This arrangement runs round 



92 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

the whole church. The side-windows of the nave-aisles 
are similar ; but they are short, and high, not coming to 
the ground. A range of three or four steps, forming seats, 
extends along those aisle walls ) and above them, covering 
the lower part of the windows, are ancient tapestries. 

The transepts are short, but broad, and with aisles. At the 
end of the north one is the organ, with a fine rose window 
over it. The end of the south transept is especially beau- 
tiful. Above the door, are, first, three thin lancet windows 
of a thoroughly early English character; the two circular 
little columns between them standing out clear. Over 
these are three round headed arches cut out in the wall, 
with their two dividing columns also clear, and containing 
in their tops, three round windows filled with seifoils. 
Above the whole, a wheel-window with painted glass. 

The choir is round at the end, and its circling aisle is 
surrounded with open chapels of much elegance, which 
indicate a more advanced stage of art. Many of the columns 
of the choir are simply round. The chancel, or ecclesiasti- 
cal choir as in Westminster Abbey, comes far down into 
the body of the church, embracing three arches of the 
nave. It is raised several steps, and surrounded by a lofty 
open iron railing. The high altar is directly between the 
piers of the cross at the entrance of the choir of the cathe- 
dral. At the upper end of the choir is another altar. 

The clerestory windows, throughout the building, and 
the rose windows, are filled with stained glass, which for 
splendor and beauty, I prefer even to Chartres. In each 
of the two arches into which the clerestory windows of the 
nave are divided, are two saintly figures on a colored 
ground, producing a fine impression. Two of those win- 
dows, about the centre of the nave, are filled with a mosaic 
glass of various colors, scarlet, blue green, the most gorge- 
ous, I think, that I have ever beheld ; and apparently of 



RHEIMS CATHEDRAL. 

the greatest antiquity. The windows of the ground floor 
are not colored, except those in the chapel at the extreme 
end of the choir, which seem to have modern glass. As 
you stand near the entrance of the nave, and look along 
the massive vista which is ended by the three splendid 
windows of the clerestory at the end of the choir, and by 
the windows of the chapel below them, the effect is excel- 
lent. But the most striking feature of the interior, is the 
view towards the great front window of the cathedral. 
Place yourself under the cross and look towards the western 
wall, and the spectacle is one of unsurpassed magnificence 
and glory. The nave there terminates in one stately arched 
window formed of many windows. The top of the great 
arch is occupied by a vast wheel filled with glass of scarlet 
and green, which in brilliancy and purity is, without ex- 
ception, the most powerful I am acquainted with. The 
intervals of the arch, above and below the wheel, contain 
smaller wheels, all of which are glittering with similar 
colors. The triforium which runs along under the large 
wheel, is open through and glazed ; and blazes with forms 
of saints glowing in robes that are radiant with a lustre 
caught from the inmost heaven. The tall arch-head of the 
centre door, also, has its rose ; and is wholly filled with 
glass of a blue and fawn color. Around the three doors, 
and filling the intervals that they do not occupy, are ranges 
of marble sculptures, set in recesses, and having an effect 
very original and agreeable. The incomparable richness 
of the varied influences that united in that picture — the 
forms of arch and circle joined in a complication that never 
became confused — the hues in which the thick crystals, 
admitting no glare and dimming no ray, turned the 
stream of the setting sun into a glory of rainbows, blent in 
endless diversity of combination, whose harmonic tones 
spread through the air like a music audible to the soul 



94 THE CATHEDRALS OP THE CONTINENT. 

alone, — this made up a vision, fit rightly to inspire and 
attune the musing hopes of those who bowed beneath that 
canopy. 

If one were called to determine this building's place, in 
the chronology of architecture, merely from the structure 
itself, upon what may be called internal evidence, one might 
confidently refer it to an early and rudimentary period of the 
style, on the other side of the channel, called early English. 
Some of the columns of the choir are circular, as in the 
Romanesque or Norman ) then, in the nave, the circular 
columns with smaller columns attached, indicate a transi- 
tion toward the clustered and ringed piers which are seen 
in other parts, and which are altogether of the early Eng- 
lish character. But I have found in the interior of Rheims 
no example of a trefoil arch ; which is one of the most fixed 
characteristics of early English. On the outside, the 
pointed arches of the nave and choir along the sides of the 
building, have around their outer moulding, little rose-like 
ornaments, closely resembling the double toothed ornament, 
and producing a similar effect. But within, the impression 
is not like Salisbury. It is French altogether. In the 
columns of the naive-aisles, and the manner in which they 
are carried up above the first capitals, you may see a strong 
resemblance to Chartres ; this being apparently a more ad- 
vanced stage of the same style. It has a solidity and pol- 
ished plainness, not free from melancholy, which makes it 
fit to have been through many ages the scene of the coro- 
nation of the descendants of Clovis. 

From documents, it appears, I believe, that this Cathe- 
dral was begun about 1211, and at least the choir finished 
in 1241. The facade certainly belongs to the beginning 
of the 15th century, 'and must be nearly contemporary 
with that of Strasburg. 



BOURGES. 95 



BOUEGE S. 

Of all the cathedrals I have seen, I know of nothing of 
such imaginative, spiritual, ethereal beauty, as the interior 
of Bourges. In regularity and simplicity, it exceeds perhaps 
even Salisbury ; yet in every line of its fabric, the vivify- 
ing touch of creative genius is visible. The elements are the 
finest and most delicate that were ever combined for so great 
an effect as this ; but it is the inspired ideality of impression 
with which these forms are played upon ; the poetic signifi- 
cance and suggestiveness of the composition, that consti- 
tutes the mental charm of this half-heavenly erection. 
Beneath his hand who fashioned this structure, — arches, 
vaults, columns, surfaces, — were as the finest notes of an 
organ under the fingers of a master, who, forming in his 
mind some airy conception of the beautiful and exalting, 
steeps it in sounds, that crystalize around it, until some 
one of Art's deathless existences is formed for the glory 
and gladness of the world. Matter, under the contagious 
fires of such an artist's handling, becomes animated and 
cooperative : his touch seems to shoot electric energies of 
intelligence into mechanical substances ; to infuse instincts 
of forms by which they voluntarily marshal themselves into 
the array of beauty. 

The chief peculiarity of Bourges consists in the absence 
of transepts, and in there being double aisles, so that the 
eye ranges along five unbroken vistas of arches, stretching 
away into the dimness of airy distance ; and as the columns 
throughout are very lofty, slender and open, an indefinite 
variety of perspective combinations are offered to the ob- 
server in different parts of the building. As you enter 
the portal of the west front, next to the centre, the view 
which you catch of the long and lofty perspective of the 



96 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 






highest side aisle, reaching as it seems to the clouds, and 
extending so far that persons at the opposite end can 
scarcely be distinguished, is like the stroke of a romancer's 
wand upon your senses, nor are you at all disenchanted, 
as advancing further, the whole of the simple, yet rich 
effect is shed in beauty upon your spirit. The nave, sus- 
tained by light and shapely clustered pillars, and display- 
ing a magnificent loftiness,* extends uninterruptedly into 
the apsidal choir ; and is flanked on both sides with aisles 
that rise to the height of 65 feet, next to which, are lower 
aisles, and out of these open chapels with richly painted 
flamboyant windows. The height of the first range of 
side aisles is so great, that the effect produced is not that 
of double aisles, but of a winged nave, or a nave descend- 
ing by gradences into its side aisles ; and the impression 
thus produced is wonderfully original, expressive and rich. 
The clerestory and triforium windows of the nave, the for- 
mer filled with colored glass, consist of series of slender 
and delicate arches, simply pointed or trefold, grouped in 
clusters of three in the clerestory and six in the triforium. 
The first and highest side aisles have similar clerestory and 
triforium windows, except that the former are grouped in 
pairs and the latter in sets of four. At the end of the nave 
is a fine west window, extending nearly across it, composed 
of two great arches with a wheel in a diamond in the head 
between them, the whole richly colored; and beneath is 
the organ over the chief door, which is low. The choir is 
surrounded by a light iron railing, and is raised above 
the nave by three low steps; at the upper end rises another 
step, and beyond it another, on which platform stands the 
high altar. The columns that surround the choir with 
open arches are slenderer than in the nave, and shooting 
up to an extraordinary elevation, the effect which they 
* 117 feet, or 33 feet more than Salisbury. 






BOURGES. 97 

produce surpasses anything that I am acquainted with. In 
the eastern apoe, and the eastern part of the cathedral gene- 
rally, the lowest windows of the outer aisles, and the 
clerestory windows of both the inner aisles and the nave, 
are filled with ancient stained glass, blue and crimson, of 
extraordinary splendor, and when the morning sun streams 
upon, the illumination is magnificent. 

Although the style of the interior is uniform from end 
to end, the building discloses in every direction as you 
pass to different points of view, an innumerable variety of 
perspective arrangements and graduated effects. Looking 
across the cathedral, you see five succeeding rows of elegant 
little arches mounting with delicate variations, one above 
another till they seem to scale the heavens. First are the 
arches of the low outmost aisles, athwart which also you 
catch sight of the highly colored and decorated flamboyant 
windows of the chapels; next above come the triforium 
and clerestory archlets of the first or inner aisles'; and then 
mounting still upward, the scolloped lines of the clerestory 
and triforium of the nave. The ground vaultings of the 
double aisles, when you are looking directly across, produce 
still additional rows of arches. It might seem that in this 
significant construction the sacred artist meant to typify the 
church of God under that vision, in the Patriarch's sleep, 
of steps stretched to heaven, whereon seraphs ascended and 
descended, and the angel of God himself struggled with 
humanity, when its grosser qualities were laid in slumber 
by the solemn influences of the scene and hour. The sim- 
ple arrangement of having the choir discriminated from 
the nave merely by a low triple step, and the great altar 
placed at the summit of a triple platform, united full eccle- 
siastical suggestions with unimpaired architectural effect. 
The glassy choir might have seemed to him fit to be the 
luminous canopy of the angels, who beneath the moon of 
9 



y» THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

Bethlehem sang the jubilee of Peace on earth and good 
will towards men. To me, the music-like sweetness of 
the structure, seemed to embody a translation into visible 
forms, of the delicate caroling of some celestial band. The 
chords of those exquisite lines of small arches that swept 
in successive ranges along the building, flowed out into 
effects like Beethoven's harmonies. They were like suc- 
cessive waves in the Summer-ocean of Beauty, which rolled 
along one after another till in the distance they were dis- 
solved into light. 

The particular in which it seems to me that the founder 
of Bourges Cathedral exhibits a deep, and accurate and 
fearless genius, is in wholly discarding the system of tran- 
septs. The cross-form is, in my judgment, inappropriate 
in Gothic architecture. Its proper employment is in con- 
nection with the dome, as in the Byzantine and Italian 
structures, and its most true condition, is that of the equi- 
lateral cross, as in the matchless type of Santa Maria 
Degli Angeli, and in the face of St. Peter's as determined 
by Michael Angelo : for then the whole comes into one 
definite view. But the characteristic effect of Gothic con- 
sists in developing long continuous vistas of arched avenues ; 
and the transept only breaks and defeats this impression. 
Transepts never enter into the general effect of a Gothic 
cathedral. They are distinct and detached limbs, contri- 
buting to the feeling of variety and size, but nothing more. 
It was the inherent permanence of a traditionary type in 
Art, particularly connected with religious symbolism, which 
caused it to be continued in the Gothic structures. Yet 
many artists have felt the evil and labored to defeat it. 
In the Cathedral of Sienna, for example, the vaulting of 
the nave and aisles, including the triforium gallery, which 
there is a vast apartment, is carried right along through 
the transepts which are thus reduced to truncated arms 



BOURGES. 99 

cut off and dangling uselessly at the sides. This produces 
not only a strange multiplicity, but an awkward confusion. 
At Lucca, another device is tried. The arched walls which 
form the sides of the nave are carried on across the tran- 
septs, making a couple of open shields athwart them. The 
objections to this, is that the upper arched spaces in this 
wall, have absolutely no meaning. They unite or separate 
the airy extent of the transepts from those of the cross : 
but they can neither be regarded as in the nature of win- 
dows nor of doors. They lack that sense of purpose, 
utility or meaning, which is indispensable as an ingredient 
in the beautiful. They betray themselves for an architec- 
tural shift, or device intended to produce a particular effect. 
They gave me the impression of a ruin. The builder of 
Bourges has solved the difficulty, in the method that is 
correct in principle, and decisiye in effect. Adopting the 
bold, and admirable suggestion of discarding the transepts 
altogether, he has made the most exquisite and only fault- 
less Gothic interior in Europe. 

One circumstance which gives to these great cathedrals 
peculiar interest as symbolic creations of Art, is the im- 
personal character which belongs to them. The builders 
or designers of Strasburg, of Friburg and of Milan are 
known : but with these and perhaps one or two other ex- 
ceptions, the cathedrals of the middle ages come down to us 
as emanations of the aesthetic energy of society at large ; as 
symbolical and typical embodiments of the ecclesiastical 
inspiration, in an age whose power was eminently con- 
structive. This merging of the individual in the universal, 
in the history of the buildings, is especially appropriate in 
works meant to symbolize religion. In scarcely any in- 
stance — Cologne is almost the only exception — have any 
plans, designs or sketches for these works come down to us. 
They seem to have inspirations or instincts of creations ; 



100 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

effluences of the action of imaginations combined into men- 
tal unity, by the action of one feeling, animated by one 
faith. Yet what a race of artists thus cheat the toll of 
Fame ! Here were persons, who possessed a variety and 
power of composition that might set them on a level with 
Michael Angelo or Rubens ; conceptions of beauty scarcely 
less exquisite than Rafael's; a feeling as sensitive as Fra 
Bartolommeo's; a spiritual sensibility and thoughtfulness 
as profound as Leonardo's ! Yet they survive to us, only in 
their works ; known not nor whispered among men, honor- 
ed not on their rolls of renown, is the name of him whose 
genius hung in the dim air the storied arches of this 
cathedral nave of Bourges; in which, rising gallery above 
gallery, in light and varied range, and seeming to bridge 
the interval between earth and heaven, stand in the highest 
clerestory in glittering robes, against the light, Prophets, 
and Saints, and Martyrs, and Apostles, beckoning us up- 
ward to their glittering home. Yet that this is throughout 
the conception and plan of one man — on whom all a poet's 
soul, and a builder's science largely had been poured — no 
one will doubt who views the harmony and order of these 
complex details — who considers how the artful combination 
of regular elements works out not only a grand and combined 
impression, but fills up the progress of the work with in- 
numerable passages of elegance, running athwart and 
throughout the majesty of the composition, till the result 
is as entire and single as a shapely tree, and the parts as 
varied and free as the leaves and branches that contribute 
to form it. 

The exterior front of Bourges is unworthy to indicate to 
the world the rare elegance of the fairy beauties within. 
The five portals, enriched all around the arches with grace- 
ful sculptured figures, separated in rows by mouldings of 
rich leaf-cordage (?) are unsurpassed. The principle tower, 



ROUEN CATHEDRAL. 101 

— a noble one, — bears, like one of those of Rouen Cathedral, 
the humiliating name of the butter-tower, having been built 
with money derived from the sale of indulgences to eat 
dainties in Lent. A humiliating title it may be called, as 
it shows that this glorious structure was the offspring, not 
of men's piety, but of their infirmities, and that while it is 
a monument to God's glory it is a memorial of his creatures 
weakness, and even of the corruption of his best gift, the 
Church. 

ROUEN CATHEDRAL. 

Rouen possesses two specimens of these interesting struc- 
tures. The Cathedral, and the Church of St. Ouen. The 
impressive effect of the facade of the cathedral, arises 
chiefly from its extraordinary breadth; which, with the 
two towers that stand, in fact, at the sides of the building, 
in a line with the front wall of the nave, is greater, I think, 
than any other in Europe. The north tower, which is 
capped with a dumpy spire, is in an early style, probably 
of the twelfth century, with some tall-pointed arches closed 
up. The other, called the butter-tower, is in a rich decorated 
manner, crowned with an octagonal, which has probably 
served as a model for the more modern one of Orleans. 
The architecture of the interior has many peculiarities with 
which it is needless to fatigue the reader. The effect is an- 
tique yet brilliant, and imposing. One of the most memor- 
able circumstances connected with this cathedral was its 
being the burial place of many sovereigns, warriors and 
statesmen, much connected with the history of England. 

CHURCH OF ST. OUEN. 

But the Church of St. Ouen is by far the most beautiful 
of the monuments of this town ; and is one of the most 
original and delicate creations in medieval constructive 

9* 



102 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

art. Viewed either from within or without, it seems like 
a vast cross-shaped lantern. The outer walls of the nave 
aisles, which are without chapels, are composed of a range 
of broad decorated windows, pretty high from the ground, 
and separated only by rather slender clusters of columns. 
The triforium is absorbed into the broad clerestory windows. 
It consists of a double gallery, glazed on the outside, and 
separated from the cleristory by a slight horizontal course 
with two or three ranges of little arches under it, so that 
the whole space above the lower aisle-arches has the effect 
of being one range of vast windows divided in the middle 
by a transom, and having the lower part arched as the up- 
per. This arrangement, above and below, prevails through 
the whole church nave, transepts and choir. Everywhere 
the walls seem to have run to windows. Except the low 
wall which runs around under the aisle windows, like a 
parapet or bulwark; the entire structure below the roof is 
of glass, divided and supported by slender piers, buttresses 
and clustered shafts. The great number of tall shapely 
banded pillars, and the great height and length of the 
church, in comparison with its width, produces a striking 
result. You feel as if you stood in some avenue in a forest 
of tall trees, sacred to purity and peace, and stillness. As 
the glass for the most part is richly colored, the impression, 
when the sun is bright, is the most enchanting and bewil- 
dering that can be conceived. How strongly we must ad- 
mire the creative fancy, the forbearing taste, of those who, 
in erecting a building of such consequence, could remain 
true to the simplicity of a plan so slight in its design, but 
so certain in its effect ! A clear and deep moral conception 
must have been the guiding and sustaining genius of this 
work; and it is instantly revealed in it: St. Ouen must 
have been the suggestion of some gentle spirit whose wide 
human sympathies viewed religion only as the loveliest 



CHURCH OF ST. OUEN. 103 

emanation of that beneficent Nature, whose all-circling 
compassion woos to restoration all whom it has made. The 
material and complicated grandeur of other cathedrals fits 
them to be symbols of that artificial and metaphysical 
church catholic upon earth, whose system, wonderful and 
venerable as it may be, is essentially of human elaboration 
and structure. Its mighty and enduring vastness substi- 
tutes to your mind an earthly conception of the infinite. 
The more it works out in scientific and aesthetic operations 
and details, illustrations of the divine, the more thoroughly 
is man's character stamped upon it. But St. Ouen embo- 
dies that elder, wider, and wiser view which contemplates 
Revelation only as the fullness and assurance of a grace pre- 
viously developed in Natural Religion. It gladdens the 
spirit of the worshipper with the mild brightness of the 
heaven of Nature. It shuts not out, but rather gathers in, 
the glory of the open universe. It is a house of garnered 
Light, whose rich, soft, iris-lustre is only a revelation to us 
of a glory before inherent in the common day, though in- 
visible; as redemption was^ in humanity. These lovely 
tones that here pervade the air, are but the Church's in- 
terpretation to us of a refining beauty in life ; but which, 
without that revealing interpretation, never could have 
been unsphered to us. It renders to us only natural light; 
but in the glory of its elemental fineness. Touched by the 
appeal of its simple and natural sanctity, the hand of revolu- 
tion, which destroyed so many monuments in this region, 
spared its graces ) and though plundered by those savages of 
spiritual life, the religious Jacobins of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, the Huguenots, its frame remains uninjured. It was 
begun in 1318, but not finished till 1500. 

The front, unfinished for many centuries has lately been 
completed according to the original design, with two fine 



104 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

spired towers, lightly and elegantly arched and decorated. 
It is of great beauty and in good taste. 

CATHEDKAL OF AMIENS. 

It was about half an hour after ten o'clock on Sunday 
morning when I entered Amiens Cathedral. The bishop 
and his gilded canonry were engaged in celebrating high 
mass. As the chapels that surround the apsidal choir are 
almost formed of large windows, of which the effect is, to 
shed a flood of roseate and orange light through the whole 
eastern end of the cathedral, it seemed as if, like the pro- 
mised miracle of the temple of old, the Spirit of God was 
present in effulgence, and the glory of the Lord over- 
shadowed the altar of his worship. 

The interior of the cathedral is extremely beautiful, and 
in a taste which no criticism can reprove. The style is 
quite uniform, and recalls Salisbury at once : but it be- 
longs clearly to a rather more advanced stage. I should 
call it Early English, just flowering and half flowered 
into Decorated. The triforium windows of the nave and 
transepts, — the gallery round the west front within, — and 
the lancet-headed windows or open arches around the apse 
of the choir — are decidedly Early English : but the other 
large windows, the triforium of the choir, and the rest of 
the style, generally, would, in England, rather be referred 
to Decorated. The central columns which sustain the 
vault at the cross are remarkably light and graceful. The 
aisles of both the nave and choir, on both sides, are sur- 
rounded with chapels. The triforium of the choir and 
east sides of the transepts is a clear-story ; having double 
windows, the outer glazed. The plain design of the build- 
ers has been to accumulate light in the eastern part of 
the cathedral. There are fine wheel-windows in the ends 



CATHEDRAL OF AMIENS. 105 

of each transept of the nave. The vault of the nave rises 
* to the magnificent height of 132 feet ; which is nearly 50 
more than Westminster. There is an opening in the vault 
to which you may ascend, and look down from it upon the 
people below, who appear like pigmies. But a better view 
of the building is from the high gallery that runs along 
the interior west wall. In the north transept, I found a 
Latin inscription to Gresset; recording that his bones, 
having long rested elsewhere, were, in 1811, moved thither 
and interred with great pomp. The west front is in a rich 
style of Decorated Gothic. The mouldings of the three 
portals are deep ; the upright columns being enriched with 
saints or bishops, and the arches adorned with strings of 
sculptured figures, and the door-heads having ranges of 
bas-reliefs; the centre representing the Last Judgment. 
All this is quite like Rheims. Over the doors is a range 
of gallery windows, in a style like Early English : and 
above this a splendid rose window. The proportions of 
the front are agreeable ; and the manner in which each 
successive story or stage recedes behind the other, and 
grows lighter as it goes higher, is commendable. The 
view from the towers is good. The valleys of the higher 
and lower Somme, beautifully wooded, lie beneath your 
eye. In one of the turrets you are shown a small cham- 
ber, whence Henry IV. observed the retreat of the Span- 
ish army; and in the centre of it a round stone table, 
where he afterwards breakfasted with a joyous appetite. 
The fleche or spire is extremely thin and arrowy : quite 
contemptible indeed. 

The age of this building agrees pretty well with the cha- 
racter I have assigned it as a mixture of Early English and 
Early Decorated. It was begun in 1220 and completely 
finished in 1288. Salisbury was begun in the same year, 
1220, but pushed forward so rapidly, that a large part 



106 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

was finished in five years, and the whole was completed in 
1258. Thus, begun in the same year, the completion of 
Amiens extends over thirty years later than the conclusion 
of Salisbury. Tintern and Netley belong to the year 1240, 
and Westminster Abbey, the chapel of the nine altars at 
Durham and the choir of Ely, 1240-50. So that Amiens 
was building, after the best Early English monuments in 
England were completed. 

The interior of Amiens certainly commands one's men- 
tal admiration. There is nothing that a severe taste can 
condemn ; indeed every thing that it must admire. The 
altitude, particularly, is glorious. Yet altogether it fails 
to excite much enthusiasm. It wants character and ex- 
pression. Its monotonous regularity and uniformity make 
more an illustration of rules of architecture, than an em- 
bodiment of the Spirit of Art. I find not in it those 
daring outbreaks of creative power; those unconscious 
workings out of deep sentiments ; those bold and varied 
compositions; those individual characteristics, in which 
the conventional outlines of the science become subordi- 
nate to absorbing influences of special genius ; which I do 
see in Tours, and Eheims, and Bourges. We pronounce 
it faultless and near to perfection ; yet we do not find it so 
delightful as some others. 

CATHEDRAL OF TOURS. 

This Cathedral is the exquisitely fragrant full-blown 
flower of Gothic Art in France. The interior is in a style 
of which it would be difficult to convey any notion to a 
person familiar only with those combinations which are 
found in England : for here are columns which might have 
been transported from Salisbury, or the nine altars at Dur- 
ham, and there are arches and panels that are kindred to 



CATHEDRAL OF AMIENS. 107 

St. George's at Windsor, or the Seventh Henry's chapel 
at Westminster. I know not any nave which, viewed 
from the choir, presents so impressive and elegant a conp 
d'oeiL From the front door to the transepts, it consists of 
eight arches on either side, delicately clustered in an Early 
English manner; the capitals of the side aisles being of 
rich grape-leaf mouldings, but the pilasters fronting on the 
nave running up to the roof, which is neatly vaulted with 
finely cut bosses (?) in the centres. The piers of the nave 
nearest the door of entrance, advance somewhat into the 
nave, forming a kind of tower, and rise continuously in 
very delicate clustered lines to the roof. The nave piers 
at the opposite end, also, forming the Corpus of the cross, 
project to the same extent, and come into line with those 
nearest the door, and rise to the vault with elegant mould- 
ings, like them in every respect. As you stand in the 
choir, the combination of these two sets of pillars rising 
above eighty feet, uninterrupted by side-aisle capitals, and 
limiting the nave between two shapely and very lofty and 
magnificent portals, forms a composition of irresistible 
grandeur and beauty. Each of the arches that connect 
the nave with its side-aisles, is on the nave side, set in a 
plain panel, with the horizontal line of which it is con- 
nected by a small square, set lozenge-wise, on the top of 
the arch. Above this, you see an illustration of that ten- 
dency of French Gothic to run into windows, wherever it 
is practicable to do so, in the triforium and clerestory ex- 
panding and coalescing into great sheets of glass. The 
triforium consists of pairs of variously-headed flamboyant 
arches, each set in a panel, and forming a continuous gal- 
lery, having corresponding ones on its outer side, some of 
which are glazed, others walled up wholly or in part. Im- 
mediately over the triforium, and separated from it only 
by a slight horizontal moulding, are the double clerestory 



108 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

windows, of grefat size, going to the roof, and forming con- 
tinuous sides of glass around the upper part of the whole 
cathedral. In fact, the clerestory and triforium constitute 
a series of great windows, separated in the midst by tran- 
soms, double arched below. The view which, from the 
choir, you get of the interior west front, set in the frame 
of the snow-white portal-like arches I have described, is 
excellent. Over the low door are two square panels, side 
by side, their angles rounded off, and filled with flamboyant 
patterns of stained glass, and over these a stilted arch 
flamboyant, glazed and colored. Above this, is the same 
arrangement as the clerestory and triforium galleries of the 
sides of the nave, but here unequivocally producing the 
effect of one vast window, divided by a transom, having a 
double range of arches below it, both filled with colored 
glass, and having a little gallery along the base : the top 
of the upper part having a grand wheel-head. There are 
lofty side-aisles to the nave, and on each side of them, ca- 
pacious chapels of the same height, connected with one 
another, and giving the effect of double aisles. Many of 
the high and large windows of these chapels are filled with 
very brilliant painted glass with figures \ probably not of 
much antiquity, but producing as showy effect when seen 
from the nave. 

The same arrangement of clerestory and triforium which 
I have noted in the nave, continues around the transepts, 
except that the arches of each are in triplets ; there being 
two such in each transept side. This fine and free variety 
of detail in connection with an uniform general plan, pro- 
duces a fresh and agreeable effect. The end of the north 
transept has an enormous wheel-window filling its whole 
width ; and under it, a gallery of quatrefoils with a double 
range of six arches below, the outside range glazed, and 
the whole thing filled with colored glass. The end of the 



CATHEDRAL OF AMIENS. 109 

south transept is chiefly occupied by a great organ ; but 
above it, glitters the top of a splendid window running 
quite across, and with a sort of diamond-wheel in the top, 
finely colored. 

The choir, which is apsidal, is wider than the nave, and 
its aisles also widen upon those of the nave, and form fine 
spaces surrounded by chapels. The lower arches imme- 
diately surrounding the choir are tall, narrow, and lance- 
like ; set in panels with the spandrils decorated with 
flowers in bas relief. Over these, the arrangement of tri- 
forium and clerestory windows is like that in the nave^ 
only that the triforium windows are sometimes triple or 
quadruple, and always have a little gallery of quatrefoils 
or of low arches running along the base. The rich yet 
simple and elegant impression of these three ranges of 
arches in the choir, is extremely good. The upper double 
circuit of windows is filled with very ancient, gorgeously- 
colored glass, so that the whole air is resplendent with 
crimson and blue. The windows of the outer chapels, at 
the end of the apse, are also filled in a similar manner. It 
would be difficult to conceive a more striking and captiva- 
ting effect of colored glass. The glass windows, which 
form the upper sides of the nave, are plain \ and as you 
enter the west door you see no colors, except at the end of 
the choir, through which streams a gloriously-varied purple 
lustre. The colored windows there, are disposed so as to 
produce at the top, in the very tall and broad clerestory, 
a continuous wide sheet of violet light broken into a mass 
of fragments by the little figures that fill it, and which 
are distributed throughout in flamboyant patterns of 
flowing richness. In the middle or triforium range, is a 
narrower and more interrupted entrance of light ; and in 
the lowest range, there is a still thinner extent of lustre, 
from the end chapel seen through the choir arches. The 
10 



110 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

three ranges together thus form a fan-shaped illumination, 
expanding as it ascends, till it seems to open into the 
"broad diffused glory of the courts of heaven. The kindled 
splendor of the skies seems to form the canopy of the 
sanctuary, into which the narrow rays from the altar, 
streaming upward, radiate and are absorbed. 

An example of the wonderful freedom and care with 
which these ancient builders dealt with the forms that 
were before them, may be seen in the marked effect occa- 
sioned by the choir and its aisles being so much wider 
than the nave with its aisles. The nave seems like a long 
avenue leading into the church, which might seem to begin 
with the transepts and choir. Such an arrangement, how- 
ever, would have caused the nave to appear too narrow, 
were it not for the great height and width of the side- 
aisles, which come to the relief of the true nave and the 
adjacent chapels, which produce a great expansion, and 
restore to the body of the church that pre-eminence of 
grandeur which it ought to possess over the choir. 

The lofty and wide facade of this cathedral, up to the 
point where the towers begin to rise above the roof, comes 
upon the imagination of the spectator like a suffusing 
shower of unexhausted richness and beauty. Flamboy- 
ance, in all its gorgeous luxury, " here reigns and revels 
here." The canopies, which hang like veils of lace over 
the little tribunes surrounding the deep-set doors, have 
lately been restored with skill, but the statues beneath are 
not. But, while up to that point all is glorious, all beyond 
it is bad. The towers are sadly goitred, being too wide 
for the bases, and are in an impure style. The term be- 
tween the erection of the fagade and of those towers, would 
fix pretty distinctly the date of the corruption and death of 
the Gothic. 



STRASBOURG CATHEDRAL. Ill 



STRASBOURG CATHEDRAL. 

The front of Strasbourg Cathedral is one of those pro- 
ductions in which the work of man rises so high in the 
sphere of sublimity and great perfection, as to seem fit to 
take its place among the silent and eternal monuments of 
nature. A vast interior may produce the impression of a 
profound and mystic grandeur ; but that is chiefly because 
it is viewed apart from standards of comparison, and thus 
the mind's solemn feelings flow forth and distend the space 
into an ideal immensity corresponding with an emotion of 
reverence that grows within the spirit. But look upon the 
front of Strasbourg Cathedral from some point when you 
may view at the same time the noble mountain ranges of 
the Vosges and the Black Forest, divided by the broad 
waters of the grandest river of Europe ; view it when the 
sun in heaven stands in splendor beside its sky-piercing 
spire, and sends down upon it a gushing tribute of en- 
kindling lustre, or when the ancient stars come forth upon 
the sky to gladden themselves with its beauty^and the new- 
born moon walks over the whole circle of the heavens to 
view the entireness of the wondrous pile ; then, even then, 
in the presence of such objects, which are the joy of crea- 
tion, the representatives of the energy of The Infinite — 
Strasbourg Cathedral seems, and ever shall seem, "a glori- 
ous work"* of power, of beauty, and of grandeur. 

The extraordinary height to which the vast breadth of 
this facade rises, shooting thence still upward in the foun- 
tain-like jet of its spire, furnishes some explanation of this 
effect. As you come upon the place where it stands, it 

* Anno Domini 1277, in die beati Urbani hoc gloriosum 
opus inchoavit magister Erwinus de Steinbach. — Inscription 
formerly existing on the arch of the north portal. 



112 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

seems to rear itself aloft like the wall of the world coming 
athwart you, as if it would stop all progress and all view. 
It is enough to say, that it is the highest human structure 
upon the face of earth. The Great Pyramid of Egypt has 
always been deemed a considerable elevation ; but Stras- 
bourg surpasses it by twenty-four feet. St. Peter's, at 
Rome, buries its head among the clouds of wonder and 
amazement; but this spire, from the pavement, is forty 
feet loftier than the top of the cross of St. Peter's. The 
solid fagade, before the solitary tower begins, is 230 feet, 

which is — feet than the spire of Trinity Church in 

New York. This is not the real height of the vault of the 
nave, but is occasioned by the wall of a tower and the 
space between them being carried up solidly about half the 
height of the real front below, thus producing 3. sort of 
screen running back the depth of the towers. The compo- 
sition and plan or ordonnance of this fagade, differs en- 
tirely from that of Rheims, with which a careless eye 
sometimes compares it. The fagade, or broad front of 
Rheims, is its own " be-all and end-all ;" and is intended 
to be complete and sufficient without towers or spires. Its 
controlling lines are horizontal, and distribute the whole 
into three galleries of several ranges. The lines and divi- 
sions of Strasbourg front are vertical. The whole fagade 
has reference to the towers, and seems to be derived from 
tjiem, or to be the commencement of them. From the 
pavement upward, the front is to be conceived as consist- 
ing of a pair of towers corresponding in arrangement, and 
between these a central space filled up in a different man- 
ner, all distributed in three horizontal courses. Thus 
looked at, the fagade possesses entire distinctness and har- 
mony : every part is tributary to one grand and character- 
istic effect. The decoration is generally geometrical. 
There is sculpture about the doors, and on the head of the 



STRASBOURG CATHEDRAL. 113 

first story of the fagade are four noticeable figures on 
horseback : Clovis, Dagobert, Rudolph of Hapsburgh, and 
Louis XIV. When I stood in the presence of this beauti- 
ful erection, the French monarch seemed fully justified in 
stealing Strasbourg from the emperor. 

The peculiar interest of Strasbourg consists in the abso- 
lute unity between the towers and the fag ade ; the tower 
being a constituent element in the fagade, and the facade 
determining and modifying the character of the tower and 
spire. What I may call the dignity of the spire is admira- 
ble. Most of the spires of cathedrals of great height are 
either thin and contemptible, or they are over-heavy with 
lace-like ornaments. Strasbourg is airy but firm, broad 
and easy, and viewed from a distance, perhaps the tapering 
part of the spire appears too short; but looked at from the 
platz below — when the tower would necessarily appear 
foreshortened — the proportion seems to be perfect. It 
seems like a pointed crown of light let down from heaven 
upon the airy tower. The union of the spire and tower, 
the touchstone of cathedral genius, is here as rare and per- 
fect as at Friburg, yet wholly different. The difficulty is 
solved at Friburg by the resources of consummate science. 
It is solved there to the mental satisfaction and by mere 
architectural skill. Here at Strasbourg it is avoided, 
through the poetic powers of the imagination in the de- 
velopment of the spire out of the tower. [MS. here illegi* 
ble.] Material form seems to be so impregnated with vital 
force and its instincts, as to develop a growth of forms har- 
monized by the affinities of natural evolution. The octagonal 
spire itself begins in the same octagonal form at the very 
roots of the tower ; and the tower is formed merely by four 
tourelles or tall slender turrets, attending the included 
octagon like butresses for a certain distance, and constitut- 
ing the quadrangular tower, which will be found to include 

10* 



114 THE CATHEDRALS OP THE CONTINENT. 

an octagon all the way to its base. Their cessation follows 
the continuance of the spire, which then acquires a step- 
like pointed form, from the vertical lines stopping one 
after another, beginning from the outer and coming in- 
wards. Thus the spire seems to rise out of the tower like 
a flower out of the stalk which bears it aloft. A little 
calix or rind forms the connecting member, and the spirit- 
ual germ unfolds itself in light, and loveliness, and fra- 
grance. Thus all notable transition from tower to spire, 
from square to octagon, from cylindrical to pointed, is 
avoided. This furnishes an example of original and various 
invention of those great composers in stone — those artists 
in mechanical forms — who exhibited all the glories of crea- 
tive art in the 13th, 14th and 15th centuries. 

There are three fine portals separated from one another, 
one under each tower and in the centre. Their heads are 
pointed with rich pediments over them, and a good deal of 
sculpture. In the next, or middle portion of the fagade, there 
is in the centre an immense and resplendent marigold win- 
dow; and on either side of it, under the towers one large 
open pointed window. Above, in the third and highest 
range, in the centre, two pointed and pedimented windows ; 
and on either side a pair of three lancet windows. In the 
same plane with the outer line of the four buttresses which 
run up, defining the two towers, are bars of stone running 
up vertically and forming a kind of net work, which 
gives a delightful chiaro-scuro effect to the facade. It pro- 
duces that effect of depth which charms so in Leonardo's 
or Correggio's pictures, and throws an ideality over the 
mass which is peculiar. It creates artificially a kind of 
aerial perspective, which softens and shadows the masses 
of stone. The plain, stern outline of the fagade and 
tower, as marked by the buttresses and columned angles, 
keep up the simplicity and grandeur of feature re- 



STRASBOURG CATHEDRAL. 115 

quired for true effect in so great a building, while the veil 
of delicate lines hung across the intervening spaces, and 
shedding fineness and finish on the retreating breadths of 
the front, seem like a rich atmospheric medium through 
which the structure is viewed, and by whose influence it is 
beautified. 

The proportions of the whole front appear to be unex- 
ceptionable; formed especially for grandeur and majesty. 
Whether you regard the distribution and regularity of the 
principal parts, or the elegance, consistency, variety, archi- 
tectural purity and propriety of the details and decorations, 
the display is among the finest in the world. 

The facades of the south and north transepts are also 
worthy of attention. The former consists, at the base, of a 
double Romanesque door, deep and loaded with sculptures. 
In the range above are a pair of double pointed windows, 
and between them, images of the Virgin and child, set in 
a shrine of the rarest delicacy and richness ; and over it 
an astronomical clock. In the third and highest range, 
are two rose windows filled with circular lights of colored 
glass. Before the north transept, and in advance of its 
facade, is a porch exceedingly rich with sculptures and 
flamboyant arch mouldings ; the whole obviously built on, 
long after the regular front of the transept. In the centre 
of this porch is a representation, in sculpture, of the En- 
tombment, and around the columns at the sides are numer- 
ous figures of saints. Over this porch, in the facade of the 
transept, are two rose windows, scolloped in a Romanesque 
style ; above a gallery of Romanesque screen work, and, in 
the pediment, a rose again. Over the upper rose is a semi- 
circular capping or outer moulding with the billet ornament 
of the English Norman. Around the nave on the outside 
runs. a wall with decorated windows. On the south 



116 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

side this is roofed over, and used as a workshop for masons, 
on the other, it is npt roofed. 

The interior nave of Strasbourg is striking, not for airy 
altitude or vistaed length, but for breadth and fullness, 
and for a certain creamy richness of color. It has mas- 
siveness of outline combined with an elegance of outward 
finish, solidity of proportions, and purity of architecture. 
The material is a stone of light and dark brown intermixed, 
which has an effect, which if you wanted a terrifying illus- 
tration, might be compared to a snake, but if you wanted 
a true one, to the color of castile soap ; a little recalling, 
the black and white zebra style, as Hope calls it, of the 
Cathedral of Siena. 

As I entered the door of the north transept, the nave 
was filled with a thousand worshippers, who were kneeling 
towards one of the side chapels, while female voices were 
chanting the Ave Maria. The windows being all richly 
colored, a sacred dimness filled the nave. Anon, the great 
organ began slowly to peal through the minster. The con- 
gregation rose and crossed themselves, and withdrew 
through the various doors, and I was left in solitude to 
pursue my architectural researches. 

From the west door to the cross, are eight elegantly 
clustered columns ; the first from the door, which support 
the tower, being of an enormous mass, but superficially 
clustered so as to assume an air of grace and lightness. 
These columns have leaf capitals at the height of the aisles 
on three sides ; but in front, on the nave, they run up to 
the centre of the clerestory windows before they form 
capitals for the roof, which consists of a plain groining of 
stone ribs like the columns, on a white ground. The tri- 
forium, between each pair of piers, consists of two sets of 
double decorated arches set in rectangular panels, and open 
through, and filled with colored glass. The clerestory 



STRASBOURG CATHEDRAL. 117 

windows are broad, filling the whole space between the 
pilasters, and reach to the roof. Against one of the 
columns of the nave is a very rich carved pulpit, of the 
end of the 15th century, 

In the side aisles, opposite to the first arch from the 
west door, there is a tall window on each side with a grand 
wheel in the top, filled with deeply colored glass. Then 
follow very broad double windows with decorated heads. 
The great breadth of these windows, in proportion to the 
height, forms one of the most marked features of this 
cathedral. Under them, and round the whole base of the 
side aisle walls, runs an open screen work of Early English 
trefoil arches or columns. After this, towards the tran- 
septs, the side aisles expand into two chapels on each side, 
which are entered, each of those on one side under two 
lancet arches, and each of those on the other under three 
such arches entirely Early English in character. The out- 
side of the clustered columns of these arches are adorned 
with sculptured images in very rich, light tabernacles. 
The head of the west window of the north chapel is quite 
in the perpendicular style. 

The columns at the cross, at the head of the nave, are 
of immense solidity, consisting of short clustered Roman- 
esque columns mounted on an octagonal base, eleven or 
twelve feet high ; the effect being entirely consistent with 
that of the nave columns. The arches of the cross are 
pointed. The intersection of the cross is separated from 
the transepts by a tall round column, having a single leaf 
capital in a Roman style. In the centre of the north tran- 
sept is a similar round column supporting the groining of 
the transept. In the centre of the south transept is a 
column, consisting of a slender circular column, with four 
small attached columns at equal distances, and between 
them three ranges of angels and saints of considerable 



118 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 



height, each in a shrine. In this transept is the celebrated 
toy-clock. The choir is very short. The choir and tran 
septs, within and without, are in a Romanesque style, and 
are obviously much older than the nave. The building 
has been so often destroyed by fire and rebuilt, that it is 
difficult to determine from documents the age [MS. is here 
illegible.] They have been ascribed to the age of Charle- 
magne; but an eye familiar with the chronology of archi- 
tecture in France and Germany, would have no difficulty 
in referring them to the 12th century. 

The present nave was begun by Erwin de Steinback, and 
finished by the same architect in 1275.* In 1298 a great 
fire consumed all the combustible part of the structure, and 
after it the windows were re-constructed with greater ele- 
gance. The massive outline indicates the middle of the 
13th century; the windows and other ornaments the 14th 
and 15th. 



: 



FKIBURG CATHEDRAL. 






If any one wishes to see, in an architectural form, an 
earthly image of Perfection, — to behold a material struc- 
ture that is radiant with the beauties of exhaustless grace, 
and yet pervaded by severeness of purity, — to study a mo- 
del of scientific skill which, to tiie most learned, might 
teach some new resource of invention, — let him give hours 
and days of delighted survey to the? tower of the Cathe- 
dral of Friburg in the Breisgau. R is one of those rare 
felicities of creation which glowing Art, — in the controlled 
vigour of its maturity, — inspired by genius, furnished with 
knowledge, and aided by a thousand favoring accidents, — at 
times lances forth from the spiritual life of Beauty into the 
visible immortality of Fame. A brilliancy of tone is im- 

* Notice sur la Cathedrale. Strasbourg, 1850, p. 9. 



PRIBURG CATHEDRAL. 119 

parted to the composition by the clean simplicity of ar- 
rangement which predominates throughout all the delicate 
richness of the finish; and the integrity of the pervading 
outline is maintained so distinctly and entirely through the 
whole work, that the inherent majesty of the form seems 
to keep in subordination all that is adventitious in the de- 
coration : and thus a certain moral charm is added to the 
constructive graces of the vision, to make it a true exem- 
plar in the best and highest taste. As the composing parts 
of such a work separate and arrange themselves under our 
scrutiny, and element after element marshals itself into the 
combined impression as with a fresh contingent of effect, 
we say to ourselves, in doubt, " Could the builder, indeed, 
have meant all that we behold ? Does his production set 
before us a soul-conceived type of divineness, or does our 
kindling imagination illuminate and deck his work with a 
significance and suggestion to which his mind, it may be, 
was a stranger V* A question asked perhaps in a trifling 
vein, but capable of being answered in a profound one. In 
truth, aesthetic sense is so much a social consciousness, 
a spiritual communion, that the vital medium of [Art 
is reproduced only in the reaction between the creator's 
work and the admirer's soul. The production itself is but 
the dim hieroglyphic mark which the glance of intelligent 
sympathy brightens into luminous and significant power. 
The glory, the divinity of art exists only for and in those 
minds which are capable of being provoked by it into 
emotions which are almost creative in their energy of con- 
ception : oftentimes it is a revelation to some instinct of the 
author's mind, who, for the residue of his life, may alone 
comprehend what only he has created. The true beauty 
of the Apollo, or the San Sisto Madonna, inheres not in 
the canvass or marble ; it lives only within that tumultu- 
ous splendor of the observer's imagination which, impreg- 



120 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

nated by the work into a sensibility receptive of creation, 
finds realized in its recesses of thought a glory of form, 
which the production itself only calls up. 

The Cathedral is well placed, in a considerable Platz, 
and is approached in front by a street, though somewhat 
obliquely. The lower part of the tower forms a porch in 
front of the nave ; and its low, wide portal is defined by 
deep, receding ranges of slender shafts quite plain. The 
sides of the interior of the porch are surrounded by double 
seats, probably for catechumens, and above them, against 
the walls, is a screen of trefoil arches under canopies, and 
over them small saintly figures, under open pinnacles. The 
vault of the porch has formerly been painted with figures, 
which are now nearly obliterated. In the centre, there is 
a circular opening, which corresponds with similar ones in 
the upper stories, so as to enable one to look down almost 
from the summit of the tower. The door which leads into 
the Cathedral is strung round with sculpture like Stras- 
bourg and Rheims. The interior, which is of grey stone, 
with light clustered piers, has a good effect. The nave- 
aisles are extremely wide, and contain six broad decorated 
windows, with rich colored glass, partly modern, partly 
ancient, the latter of exquisite beauty ; below these, against 
the wall, runs a screen or gallery of open decorated work, 
a foot and a half high, and, beneath it, an open screen- 
work of trefoiled arches. The nave, which is divided 
from its aisles by six arches, is very lofty and narrow, 
without triforium, and with a clerestory formed at a great 
height by the side arches of the vault. On the front of 
each nave-pier, is a saintly figure as large as life, under a 
rich canopy ; and as you look along this fine vista to the 
distant choir, which is long and apsidal, and full of light, 
you are reminded of Amiens. The choir is raised a few 
steps above the nave, and contains large colored clerestory 



FRIBURG CATHEDRAL. 121 

windows, which are transomed, but with decorated heads ; 
and the lower windows of the chapels that surround the 
choir aisles also contain much bright and luxurious color. 
The choir has an elaborately sculptured monument to Mar- 
shal De Root, distinguished under Maria Theresa; and 
tombs with effigies of the Dukes of Zahringen. Under 
one of the kneeling figures is this inscription : " Conradus 
D. Z. Fr. Bertoldi III. coepit hanc sedem cum turre A. D. 
mcxxiii. Finiit fere cum vita iv non. Jan. mclii." But 
this was, probably, put there long after his death, and the 
dates must certainly be inaccurate. The transepts, which 
are short and chiefly Boinanesque, are likely to be of that 
period ; but the nave and great tower must be a century 
later. 

The tower at Friburg forms the entire front of the 
Cathedral ; an arrangement existing also at TJlm, It con- 
sists of three parts, which, though strongly distinguished 
in form and character, yet melt into one another with an 
organic continuity in transition, which must ever be the 
admiration of the beholder. The lower part, to the top of 
the roof, is square and solid, with heavy flank buttresses at 
the angles and front ones on either side of the door, which 
are divided by set-offs into half-a-dozen stages. Above 
this rises a very tall, open and airy octagonal lantern, 
with long, slender pointed windows, each divided into 
three compartments by two thin, bar-like mullions, with 
transoms over trefoil heads, and the tops filled with lace- 
like flowing tracery. In front of the alternate faces, and 
corresponding with the angles of the square base of the 
tower, stand buttress-like pyramids of the richest and 
lightest pinnacles, rising one out of another. They consist 
of a solid triangular base, with rectangular faces, upon 
which rise, in the tapering form just mentioned, two or 
three stones of little saint-enshrining tabernacles, termi- 
11 



122 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

nated by crown-like finials. This lantern passes into a 
lofty octagonal spire, the triangular faces of which contain, 
in height, six or seven ranges of foliated ornaments like 
roses, wrought in open stone-work, each range different 
from the others. On the outside, along the ribs of the 
spire, are exquisitely moulded crockets terminated in hu- 
man heads. At the very summit, expands a cross-shaped 
flower, which crowns the fane like a star let down from 
heaven. 

The callida junctura, by which the open lantern of the 
centre is jointed into the solid tower of the base, and the 
octagonal shape of the former harmonized with the square 
form of the lower part by means of the four buttress-like 
pinnacles that stand beside it throughout its whole eleva- 
tion, and thus make its mass at once octagonal and rectan- 
gular, is worthy to receive unbounded approbation. In 
the solid base of those buttresses, the key-note of the lower 
tower runs on into the composition of the lantern ; and, 
again, in the small statue-holding shrines which appear 
about the top of the solid tower, and about the head and 
sides of the entrance portals, you have an anticipation or 
souvenir of the delightful style of the central lantern. 

Not less elegant is the vanishing away of the lantern 
tower of the centre, into the spire of the highest part. 
The ribs of the faces of both are in continuous lines, and 
the vertical piers of the tower run up some distance till 
they terminate in pinnacles. The top of the lantern, as 
already remarked, ends in a fringe of decorated arches, 
which are richly canopied : and thus the spire rises out of 
a coronet of pinnacles, and arches, and canopies, like a 
loyal nature soaring aloft from amidst a throng of hum- 
bler ministers that gird and glorify it. They seem to at- 
tend it on its way with banners of rejoicing; and when it 



FRIBURG CATHEDRAL. 123 

shoots upward, far beyond their following, they send their 
exulting sympathies straining after it. 

The whole of this steeple, and, indeed, the whole exte- 
rior of the edifice, is built uniformly of stone of a reddish 
color, the effect of which is agreeable. The entire height 
of the spire is 380 J feet, which, though 93} feet less than 
Strasbourg, is a hundred more than Trinity Church in New 
York. 

In viewing again and again this best inspired of earth's 
efforts to beautify matter into a fit tabernacle for the in- 
dwelling of Heaven's presence, you are, above all things, 
impressed with the exquisite proportion of the ascending 
parts of the tower; a proportion that is founded upon 
some mental considerations, and neither settled nor regu- 
lated by merely mechanical relations : the central and 
highest members being elongated, beyond a mere linear 
proportion, according to the degree in which they are 
lighter and more pierced. It is not, therefore, a proportion 
depending merely upon form ; and if the lantern and spire 
were solid, like the base, it is probable that they would 
appear too high for it. But the mind, taking in an accom- 
panying reference to the airy lightness of these- upper 
members, recognizes the propriety of their greater altitude, 
and the imagination draws a peculiar pleasure from a con- 
struction that seems to comply with it even to a deviation 
from the rigidness of material rules. Next to the profound 
and subtle proportion of the parts, should be noted the 
finely discriminated and emphasized expression of each dif- 
ferent member : the broad, solid, pyramidal base, all firm- 
ness and strength; the light, bright, joyous, self-sustaining 
fabric of the central part : the delicate lines of the " star-y- 
pointing" spire, its edges, fretted like a cloud in the 
wind, its sides seeming to be crumbled by the consuming 
air, and the whole just mouldering, as it were, into the 



124 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

vaporous medium that envelopes it. But the highest and 
most characteristic beauty of Friburg consists in the con- 
nection or identity of the tower with the body of the church, 
as parts of a combining whole. The lower part of the 
tower does not seem planted apart from the nave ; it is but 
its front : and the entire church is the true base of the spire. 
The same ordonnance of composition prevails throughout 
the whole exterior of the Cathedral ; the body of which is 
surrounded by an army of flying buttresses, pinnacled and 
statued, and tabernacled like the lantern ; and has, at the 
angles, between the transepts and choir, two tall turrets, 
Romanesque for some distance, but decorated like the lan- 
tern, as to the upper parts, and terminated with small 
spires resembling the great one. The side-view is striking: 
statues and spout-monsters of every sort, with richly 
crocketed pinnacles, crowd the view. With the exception 
of the round arched galleries at the end of the transepts 
within, and something in the same manner on the outside 
of the south transept, the style of the Cathedral is pure; 
and the exterior of the tower and nave display, not only 
great richness, but a perfect propriety and correspondence. 
Viewing the whole mass of the building and spire in com- 
bination, and noting the numerous flame-shaped turrets 
that start up at every point, the Cathedral seems like a 
vast censer of naphtha, streaming towards the skies ; one 
great leading jet being surrounded by smaller spurts of up- 
ward stretching fire. These, circled by the wild and frown- 
ing hills of the Black Forest, which are piled around it, 
in variety of confusion, stands this unmatched type of the 
Beauty of Holiness ; fit symbol 6i the Grace of the whole 
earth. Lingering around this lovely pile, through the 
mild hours of the earlier autumn, — climbing often among 
the pinnacles of its spire, — to me, it ever appeared a 
mythic representation of the Catholic Faith. Its wide, wall- 



FRIBURG CATHEDRAL. 125 

ed, crowd-containing body seemed like that visible consti- 
tution of the church, which, founded on the plain of Truth, 
reared by the spiritual energies of the past, and but- 
tressed, without, by a thousand feelings, and interests, and 
thoughts, is a refuge from the storms of Nature, an altar 
of ever-burning worship. Above, and, as it was evolved 
out of the structure beneath, like an air-flower out of the 
material stalk which nurtured it, hangs the finely-shafted 
frame of light, like the mysterious temple of spiritual 
consciousness which religion opens out, for each heart, 
above the thronged tabernacle of visible communion, the 
home of beautiful peace, a tower of high and calm per- 
ception, a lantern, full of the illumination of the upper 
sphere : yet not limitless, not the true heaven, but even 
there, where it seems most delightful to the sight, clos- 
ing upon the view and narrowing away till it becomes 
nothing but a pointing line to the star that hangs above 
to indicate a dwelling that awaits us within the invisible, 
not made with hands, whose glories mortal eye may not 
see, nor living heart conceive. 

The tower of Friburg may safely be pronounced the 
finest in Europe. In point of height it is the fourth. Stras- 
bourg being 474 feet; St. Stephen's, at Vienna, 469 feet; 
Antwerp, 404 feet; Friburg, 380 J. Of the other famed 
spires, that of the Town Hall at Brussels is 364 feet high; 
that of Malines is 348 feet; of Chartres, 304 feet. Antwerp, 
which has neither grace nor proportion, and in which both 
the courses and their decorations are crowded together op- 
pressively, has no pretension to be compared with it. As 
little has St. Stephens; in reference to which it may be 
observed, that while the outline of Friburg, from the 
outer base to the apex, constitutes, like it, almost a regu- 
lar pyramid, that general form is in the case of Friburg, 
interrupted and varied with a freedom and diversity as 

11* 



126 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

delightful as the monotony of St. Stephen's is stupid and 
commonplace. Admirable as Strasbourg is, the spire is 
rather one pinnacle of a mighty fagade, than the tower 
of a cathedral ; and in completeness, unity, proportion and 
a sweet and harmonious variety, it must yield to the 
smaller minster on the other bank of the Rhine. Next to 
Friburg, Chartres is perhaps the most elegant on the con- 
tinent, yet it lacks the dignity, fullness and noble self- 
assertion of the German. In most spires, the builder 
seems to have been anxious to hurry over and confuse the 
connection of the spire and the base tower, and then to 
bring his spire to its point as rapidly as possible. In 
Friburg the deliberateness with which these difficult parts 
are handled, and instead of being abbreviated or con- 
cealed, are expanded and exposed, accomplishes the finest 
solution of the problem. The secret of the beautiful 
effect of this tower, in comparison with others, consists, 
first, in the great height of the open lantern which me- 
diates and interprets between the solid tower below and 
the tapering spire above, and next in the lofty and slender 
lightness of the final spire. In Friburg, I cannot perceive 
that any fault is present, or that any beauty could be 
added without endangering the simplicity and clearness of 
the outlines. I tore myself away with the reluctance of a 
lover from this captivating form of beauty; and I shall 
always retain a conviction that there is one perfect thing 
in the world, — the tower and spire of Friburg Cathedral. 

RATISBON, OR REGENSBURGH CATHEDRAL. 

The Cathedral of Ratisbon, or Regensburgh, as it is 
called by the Germans from the riven Regen, which there 
comes into the Danube, is a work of the first class, and one 
of the best in Germany. King Ludwig, whose energy and 



RATISBON, OR REGENSBURGH CATHEDRAL. 127 

liberality, guided by a correct judgment, led him to create 
much that was new and improve all that was old, in every 
part of his dominions, had induced the canons to clear out 
all the rubbish of altars and monuments with which the 
bad taste of the seventeenth century had choked so many 
of the northern continental churches ; and a room or two 
in the cloisters is filled with the mass of trumpery thus 
purged out. The interior is now clear ; and as the stone 
is of a soft rich grey, and the columns neatly clustered, 
and the proportion in all respects excellent, the effect is 
impressive and agreeable. The choir is apsidal, with three 
faces, which are filled above and below with rich windows. 
The building exhibits the whole history of the progress 
from an early form corresponding with Early English down 
to the late style of Decorated, in which the paneling cha- 
racteristic of the English Perpendicular already appears. 
The side windows consist of double lancet arches trefoiled, 
and enclosed in a larger arch, with a trefoiled circle in the 
head ; entirely like Early English. The windows outside 
have the angular canopy richly crocketed, which charac- 
terizes the Decorated. The aisles, which do not go up as 
far as the choir, are circularly apsid ; and as high up as to 
the second story they are built out as wide as the tran- 
septs. The great breadth thus obtained, produces a fine 
effect. The choir windows, as well as some others, have 
fine ancient colored glass. The side and west windows 
contain modern stained glass ; some from Munich, the gift 
of King Ludwig; some from Nuremberg. The western 
front is wide, consisting of two unfinished towers with bold 
square buttresses at either angle, and a central space in the 
same plane between them. In the south transept is a well 
under a rich and elegant canopy, with figures of Christ 
and the Samaritan woman on the columns. It is declared 
by the common people to be the identical well at which 



128 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

the scene occurred ; an opinion to which, as a Churchman, 
I am prevented from agreeing to, since it is well known 
that the scene really occurred at a well in the centre of the 
cloisters of the Lateran at Rome. A magnificent object 
in the centre of the nave, is a monument to the Cardinal 
Bishop, Prince Philip William of Bavaria, consisting of a 
lofty rectangular base, upon which, before a high crucifix, 
kneels, in his costume of Cardinal, the venerable figure of 
the high born saint. 

The Esel tower, called so because constructed for the 
ascent of the asses employed to carry materials to the sum- 
mit, leads to the roof, whence the view is excellent. There 
is some elaborate and beautiful old sculpture along the top 
of the parapet, that surrounds this covering. The windows 
and other ornaments of the two towers do not correspond ; 
and notwithstanding the size, the whole has a feeble air. 
A triangular projecting porch forms the central entrance, 
and though much adorned, has a mean appearance. The 
cloisters, which are Romanesque of the eleventh or 
twelfth centuries, and have the pavement filled with richly 
cut slabs, covering Bishops and other dignitaries, are ca- 
rious. 

CATHEDRAL OF MAGDEBURG. 

The Cathedral of Magdeburg is a noble relic of religious 
art, and it were worth the traveller's while to turn aside to 
visit it, were it only to cool and freshen his spirit in the 
atmosphere of silent and solemn grandeur in which its 
ancient aisles still garner the influences of a distant age, 
to which heaven, with its high cleansing calmness, was 
nearer than it is to ours. Within, this cathedral has much 
of the look of an English late Norman church, an effect 
partly due to its style, which is a transition from Roman- 



CATHEDRAL OP MAGDEBURG. 129 

esque to Early Gothic, partly to its great size, and to its 
being cleared of altars and other marks of Romish worship, 
and having the aspect of a merely historical monument of 
something passed away. It is now used by the Protestant- 
Lutherans, and when I entered, an ordination was taking 
place. Let not the anti-Puseyite unduly be alarmed, if I 
report that two candles were burning on an unquestion- 
able altar, on which also rested an unmistakable crucifix. 
These supposed badges of Romanism are usual in the Pro- 
testant Church of Prussia. The choir is apsidal, and as 
you enter it, through a screen, with double doors, quite in 
the English Perpendicular style, with a railing on the top, 
you find it separated from its surrounding aisle by open 
lancet arches, unequivocally Early English in effect. Be- 
tween these and the triforium are some square openings, 
with sprawling trefoil arches over them, resting on orna- 
mented little pillars in the wall, and at the sides of them 
are small standing figures of saints cut in the wall. These, 
as well as some very small figures seated in niches, in the 
wall around the choir-aisles, seem to be remnants of an 
older church which stood here, and which have been built 
up into this one. Of the triforium windows, some are 
lancet, and others round-headed, but long and ringed in 
the centre like the Early English shafts. The large cle- 
restory windows above, are filled with modern painted glass. 
Around the choir runs an apsidal aisle with chapels out- 
side of it. The nave has massive piers, consisting of 
squares with circles clustered about them like many speci- 
mens of late Norman in England. It has no triforium, 
but very long clerestory windows. The windows of the 
side aisles are long, narrow and numerous; and their 
heads, as well as those of the clerestory, contain three cir- 
cles. At the ends of the transepts are large decorated 
windows. Many interesting old monuments surround the 



130 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

walls. The cloisters are quite perfect, forming a complete 
square. The side which is opposite and parallel to the 
cathedral, appears to be of great antiquity. It consists of 
triple small arches under one containing arch ; the western- 
most dividing column of each triplet being curiously carved 
throughout, and each differently from another ; the remain- 
ing column being plain. It calls to mind the cloisters of 
the Lateran at Rome. The Facade [MS. lost.] 

BAMBERG CATHEDRAL. 

It was with feelings kindred to those that Johnson, with 
such pathetic eloquence, has expressed, in connection with 
the ruins of Iona, that in a dull afternoon of October, 
I clambered up the paved steep on which stands the ancient 
conventual and cathedral church of Bamberg. Once it was 
a very sanctuary and citadel of the church : venerable at 
home for the company of spiritual persons who there found 
refuge for study and prayer : famed and feared abroad for 
the armies which its mitred chief commanded in those bat- 
tlesome gusts of mediaeval life which caused the lamp of 
piety and learning oftentimes to flicker, and sometimes for 
a season to be extinguished. All now has passed away. 
The city is an undistinguished member of the kingdom of 
Bavaria. Its religious glories live only in the innumera- 
ble monuments and sepulchral slabs that crowd its church 
and cloisters. Its library has been scattered, and many a 
portly volume from its shelves have I purchased in Amer- 
ica, in years when I little expected that, in person, I should 
moralize in the veritable scene of the " Monasterium Bani- 
bergense." 

The cathedral, which has lately been restored and put 
in complete order, is perhaps the most elegant and inter- 
esting specimen of the latest Romanesque or earliest 



BAMBERG CATHEDRAL. 131 

G-othic, in the north of Europe. It stands on a sloping 
platz opposite to the Schloss or palace, from one of the 
loftiest windows of which the weak and worthless Berthier, 
who had married a princess of the House, fell to the pave- 
ment beneath, in a fit of remorse, ennui, or vertigo, — which 
of the three no one valued him enough to inquire. The 
east front has, at the angles, lofty Romanesque towers, with 
several ranges of small round-headed windows, and termi- 
nated by slender spires. These towers have, in front, rich 
doors like English Norman ; and that in the southern one 
is ornamented with zigzag, but as the stone is fresh, one 
cannot be sure that the design also may not be recent. 
The east end between the towers projects in a rich five- 
sided apse, which has, high up, a range of round-headed 
windows, and in a higher story, directly under the cornice, 
a row of small round-headed open arches in triplets. Un- 
der the large windows are horizontal mouldings, exhibiting 
a resemblance to the ornaments of the English Norman 
arches; a circular billet, a double-tooth, which is to be 
seen also upon the exterior of Magdeburg, and a wedge or 
sharp cheveron. The west end of the church, which is in 
a late style, has also two steepled square towers ; but at 
the four corners of each story or course are small open lan- 
terns, formed by groups of four columns, producing a rich 
and brilliant effect. 

The interior presents a long nave, with apsidal choirs at 
either end, and a transept. Towards the east end, the 
nave rises by steps ; and beneath, is a cryptal church light- 
ed by windows from without, and from the nave and aisles 
of the cathedral. The elevated east apse has, below its 
large windows, a gallery of small arches on pillars various- 
ly ornamented, some being twisted, others knotted in the 
centre, a caprice to be found elsewhere in Romanesque 
churches, such as the cathedral of Modena. The groining 



132 THE CATHEDRALS OP THE CONTINENT. 



of the western apse is extremely elegant ; and its ceiling 
is painted in antique figures of a Greek type in reddish 
colors ; as also a trifoiled gallery in the lower part of that 
apse is similarly painted; the remains of ancient frescoes. 

This cathedral is a mausoleum of departed piety and re- 
nown. A hundred monuments in brass and marble cover 
the walls. A brow that once ached under the load of the 
tiara, and hands that have wielded the sceptre of Ccesar, 
moulder together beneath this pavement. Pope Clement 
the Second', who had been Bishop of Bamberg, rests with- 
in the western choir : and in the nave is the highly wrought 
tomb of the Emperor Henry the Second and Cunegund 
his wife : the cathedral, like the church which it repre- 
sents, being capacious enough to hold calmly within its 
enclosure, the rival glories of Pope and Emperor. Against 
a pillar, near the eastern choir, is a monument of King 
Stephen of Hungary, consisting of an equestrian statue 
under a canopy. Among the dead here honored, is the 
name of Hohenlohe, an ancestor of the miraculous prince. 
But nothing within these historic walls appeared to me so 
full of pathetic interest, as an inscription against the north 
side of the church, under a bronze full-length figure on a 
tall stone pedestal, and under a stone canopy. It is in 
Latin, and records that the "Venerable line of Bishops, 
Princes and Dukes of Herbipolis, illustrious through a 
thousand and sixty years, ended by the death of George 
Charles, Bishop of Bamberg and Wurtzberg, Prince and 
Duke of East France," (Franconia). He died in 1808. 

" Venerabilis series 

Episcoporum, Principum, Ducum 

Herbipolensium 

Per mille et sexaginta annos gloriosa 

Desinit obitu 

Georgii Caroli 

Episc. Bamberg, et Wirseburg. S. K* I. Principis 

Et Franciae Orientalis Ducis." 



; 



CATHEDRAL OF ULM. 133 

The chapel of the Holy Nail, a long apartment on the 
south, has its walls lined with bronze monuments of canons, 
many of them well executed. 

CATHEDRAL OF ULM. 

The Cathedral of Ulm is one of the most noticeable of 
these great structures in Germany. Its dimensions within 
are of extraordinary magnitude. The nave piers are flat 
on the sides, but round-clustered towards the nave and 
aisles. The arches between them are of elegant lancet 
shapes. The very broad aisles are divided, each by a row 
of cylindrical columns, and are elaborately groined. There 
are no triforium windows. The choir is apsidal, and con- 
tains fine old painted glass. The stalls are most elaborately 
and beautifully carved. Along the desks, where the pas- 
sages to the seats behind intervene, there are busts of 
figures as large as life, in ordinary costume, carved in dark- 
brown wood, and looking so life-like that I took them at 
first for real persons. A very rich tabernacle, to hold the 
sacrament in Catholic times, of great height, and similar 
to the one in St. Laurence's Church, Nuremberg, stands 
on the left of the choir. The cathedral is now in the hands 
of Protestants, who form the great majority of the inhabi- 
tants ; and I found a malignant perversely praying at the 
opposite end of the building, with a crowd of standing 
listeners before him. There is a box for the receipt of 
contributions to finish the Dom, as at Cologne ; but I re- 
fused to lavish a single kreutzer on a fanaticism which 
would be incapable of making proper use of the temple 
when it might be completed. 

Outside, the aisles and buttresses are of brick, but the 
sides of the upper part of the nave, and some other parts 
of the outside, are of stone. The tower, which stands 
12 



134 THE CATHEDRALS OP THE CONTINENT. 

single at the west end of the church, is all of stone, and 
though but half-finished, it almost threatens the supremacy 
of Strasbourg and Friburg. It was intended to have been 
carried up 491 feet, but the actual height is only 317 feet. 
In front, it projects, by means of buttresses, so as to form 
a very elegant porch. The outer doors are triple, tall 
lancet arches, the columns of which are light, and have 
along them little sculptured figures in tabernacles. The 
inner doors consist of a double-pointed arch, with sculp- 
tures above. Thence the tower ascends with a finely taper- 
ing inclination. In each of the second and third stories, 
it has two windows; those in the upper, very tall and 
slender. Over them is an elegant gridiron work of thin 
circular bars or columns, in the Strasbourg style, producing 
an excellent effect. They terminate at the top in delicate 
and rich finials. So far as this tower goes, it is unexcep- 
tionable, and, had it been completed, it might have been 
the most magnificent in Europe. But, unhappily, like 
most of man's upward efforts, it stops far too short of 
Heaven. 

ST. STEPHEN'S AT VIENNA. 

St. Stephen's, at Vienna, deserves to be ranked among 
the great cathedrals of Gothic Germany. It stands in the 
centre of a considerable platz in the heart of the city. It 
is of great height. The roof stretches up with extraordi- 
nary elevation, with ranges of little windows, and is tiled 
in various colors, and in various figures of zigzag. In 
one place is a huge Austrian eagle. The lofty, isosceles- 
triangle character of the roof; the numerous pediments 
that run along the tops of the walls ; and, above all, the 
peculiar shape and character of the tower, which begins to 
taper, spire-fashion, from the ground, and is covered with 



st. Stephen's at Vienna. 135 

ranges of crocketed pediments, or angular substitutes for 
arches, gives the whole structure a tented look, not inap- 
propriate to a building so much connected with the history 
of the wars of the Christian defenders of Europe and the 
Turkish Moslem. The west end is of an antique, roman- 
esque character, probably of the eleventh or twelfth cen- 
tury ; the rest is rich and luxurious. The tower, which is 
465 feet high, is the second in Europe, being, in fact, only 
nine feet less than Strasbourg. 

The prospect from it is admirable, and is the only point 
from which you can obtain a satisfactory view of the city. 
The arrangement of that capital is peculiar. It has not 
the vertebrated construction of a great street or two, run- 
ning lengthwise through it, but a star-fish organization, or 
spider' s-web arrangement, consisting of circling streets, 
pierced by numerous avenues radiating from the centre. 
On this account, on the plain, there are scarcely any fine 
continuous views. But when you ascend the tower of St. 
Stephen's, which stands in the centre of the inner town, 
the whole lies clearly and effectively beneath you. Around 
the base of the cathedral is clustered the city proper, sur- 
rounded by a circular wall. Outside of this extends the 
broad, circling, grassy, and shaded glacis ; and outside of 
these the suburbs, like a belt, surrounds the planetary cita- 
del. The line of the glaciswhich faces towards the glacis ( ?) 
is occupied by large and fine public buildings, which, 
when thus seen in connection, offer an imposing appear- 
ance. The whole surrounding landscape of hill and plain 
is singularly impressive. On one side, at the distance of a 
mile or two, is a tumbled pile of hills, through which the 
Danube cleaves its resistless way; and on another, the 
endless plain of the Marchfield, stretching away into the 
expanses of Hungary, and exhibiting the battle-fields of 
Wagram and Espern and Essling, and the Isle of Lobau, 



136 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

in full view, almost at your feet. With "a thousand 
heavy times that had befallen" in the wars of Turk and 
Christian, is that town, which was the reconnoitering point 
for the commander of the city during the sieges of Vienna, 
connected ; and with scarcely less exciting scenes in recent 
times of revolution and civil war. It was on the 30th of 
October, 1848, that the gallant but unfortunate Messen- 
hauser, after the capitulation of the revolted city to the 
imperial troops had already been negotiated, ascended this 
tower to descry the fortunes of the battle which was taking 
place between the beleaguering Austrians and the Hunga- 
rians, who had marched to the relief of the city, and which, 
even in the last moment, gave new hopes of safety and 
independence. The thickness of the fog rendered it impos- 
sible to see the contending lines ; and the vicissitudes of a 
contest on which his own life depended could be inferred 
only from the direction and distances of the firing, which 
sometimes approached, sometimes receded, sometimes broke 
out in one quarter, and sometimes in another. From time 
to time, as any change, favorable or otherwise, appeared to 
take place, he despatched bulletins to the people below, 
who crowded the cathedral and the platz around it, half 
mad with eagerness, hope, and terror. After high expec- 
tations had several times been raised, a final bulletin told 
them that all was lost. Messenhauser was soon after tried 
and shot. 

The interior of St. Stephen's is one of the most impres- 
sive, sombre-sublime things that I have ever seen : very 
dark, — of a pure but extremely rich Gothic, — the columns 
elegantly clustered or channeled, and loaded with sculp- 
tures of saints under canopies of delicate fret-work, look- 
ing as if carved out of ebony. The altars are against the 
columns of the nave. The choir is without light, except 
from two tall, slender windows at the end of it, which are 



MILAN CATHEDRAL. 137 

filled with antique glass, and shed a golden lustre upon the 
high altar. There is a mysterious blackness of darkness 
in the interior of this cathedral by no means comfortable. 
Yet the services are exhibited here with great effect. 
Vienna, being the most licentious capital in Europe, is 
also, not unnaturally, the most devout. I shall not quickly 
forget the touching beauty of a vesper service; here so 
different from such scenes in Italy, where there are an 
army of priests but generally no congregation at all. The 
whole floor of the cathedral, as I entered one afternoon, 
was covered by a kneeling throng; and, when the organ 
struck up, the entire body of worshippers — soldiers, peas- 
ants, ladies, children, servants, princes — joined in the 
chant with an effect irresistibly pathetic. In Germany, 
all sing as well as smoke ; and the Catholic service, when 
the entire congregation take part in the singing, makes a 
depth and breadth of harmony which has an unearthly 
grandeur. 

MILAN CATHEDRAL* 

The pointed architecture of the Teutons took root in 
Italy, and produced copious fruit, more especially in Lom- 
bardy. But it is a light, thin, timid and exotic growth; 
always retaining the slight and slender forms of the earliest 
style of the Transalpine nations, and never swelling and 
advancing into the luxurious expansion and fervent vitality 
of Germany, France and England. In Naples, are speci- 
mens of a foreign Gothic imported into that region. But 
one specimen, perhaps the only one, of early German Gothic 
in Italy is to be seen in the triple Church of San Francisco 
at Assissi. It was built by a German artist, and the ribbed 
vaulting of the upper church, and its lancet windows, speak 

* Endorsed by Mr. Wallace " Very unfinished." 
12* 



138 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

a pretty pure Teutonic dialect. Other things than its archi- 
tecture render it one of the most interesting buildings in the 
world ; for its ceiling is covered with frescoes by Cimabue, 
some of which are as fresh and bright as while they were 
yet damp from the hand of the great father of modern Art ; 
and its middle crypt is a museum of the early Florentine 
and Perugian schools, being painted all over by Giotto, 
Cavallini, Taddeo Gaddi, L/Ingegno, Lo Spagna. In two 
other instances German architects have been employed in 
Italy; in the Certosa near Pavia, and the Cathedral of 
Milan. The interior of the former shows many particulars 
of pure Gothic, but joined with more that is not. 

The Cathedral of Milan stands alone in the fields of Art. 
It is like nothing else in the world, before or since. It 
seems as if upon the confines of the Teutonic and Ausonian 
territory, the pure and fervid spirits of German Gothic and 
of the half classical Italian Gothic had coalesced, and their 
several excellences had become identified in the strange 
and almost supernatural loveliness of an offspring, which, 
though absolutely special and individual, and not one of a 
race of such, is yet consistent in its novel organization, and 
irresistible in its fascinating effect. It is not that mecha- 
nical minglement of two styles which forms a debased 
Art; the combination of the elements is a vital assimilation 
of the two germs, which produces a variety upon both spe- 
cies, more elegant than either. There was just that degree 
of specific nearness in the two, which allows of a productive 
union; for the Italian Gothic is a cross between true Gothic 
and classical, and thus German Gothic when crossed with 
this mixture is still joined with something homogeneous. 
We have seen many instances of Gothic constructions con- 
trolled by classic ideas and decorations, and the effect has 
been fatal : but here is a partially classical construction 
swayed and moulded by Gothic spirit and conception, and 



MILAN CATHEDRAL. 139 

the result is admirable. The exterior of the building has 
not the outlines of a cathedral, but rather the massive and 
spreading repose of a Greek temple j yet the dress of deco- 
rations in which it is arrayed is Transalpine and still not 
inappropriate. Within, the vaulting seems not to be true 
Gothic : the piers, the relation of the nave to its aisles, 
with the incidents of triforium and clerestory, are quite 
remote from the cathedral structures of the north, yet the 
pervading tone, — the resulting impression, is Gothic of the 
most refined and spiritual sort. It is a monster, perhaps, 
according to the botany of architecture, but it is like the 
peerless and perfect rose, which passes out of the family of 
order, only to become the queen over all orders : and we 
may grant pardon to a deviation which works out an afflu- 
ence of charms that bewilders the mind in admiration and 
makes faint the sense with delight. This cathedral is not 
the child of law and calculation, but of nature and love; 
and its glowing beauties catch a higher, warmer color, from 
those instincts of feeling which gushed into forbidden 
union for its creation. I leave to architects to chronicle 
its departure from this or from that type of the schools : 
as an enthusiast worshipper of the beautiful, I care not 
for the rank or genealogy of my idol. Wherever beauty 
blooms, there glow the feelings of my heart's devotion. 

There is a wild grace in the delicate and luxurious ele- 
gances of Milan, which inflames the admiration into an 
ecstasy of pleasure. I shall not speedily forget the revela- 
tion of joy born of beauty, that opened in an instant upon 
me, as on the morning after my arrival in Milan, I walked 
forth from the Inn of Gran' Bretagna along one of the 
streets, without plan or purpose, and presently found my- 
self upon the piazza of the gorgeous duomo. The fagade 
is bad, on account of the Roman doors and windows which 
have been let into it. But stand off towards the south 



140 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

side, and view it diagonally, so as to bring the side and roof 
well into combination, and you will confess that a more sin- 
gular and more enchanting vision never rose beneath your 
eye. It was a clear morning in the early November, the air 
was bracingly cool, with something of Alpine purity, the 
turquoise-blue of the unclouded vault of heaven, was then, 
to my unaccustomed eye, a ravishment of unreality. Be- 
neath this glowing canopy, and from out the violet atmo- 
sphere that filled the whole space between earth and sky, 
rose the snowy masses of the cathedral, whose crowd of 
pinnacles seemed to tremble and tingle with diamond-like 
light. Thought and feeling seemed to melt together in 
the thrill of the senses' enjoyment, and for an instant I 
knew not whether to regard that blue heaven as a pictured 
dream of passioning Art, or that silvery pile as a crystal- 
ization of the glorious crown of Nature, who lavishing her 
grace on Italy, as she had her grandeur upon Switzerland, 
might seem here to have formed a glacier of loveliness — a 
Mont-Blanc of beauty. A white-robed, glittering band of 
seraphs seemed to have just lighted upon the summit of 
each turret and buttress and finial, and to stand there 
with pearl-pale spears pointed up to Heaven. Listen ! 
Listen! For as the sun-rays glance among the myriad 
figures, and all seems life and interchange — imagination, 
which oftentimes confuses which sense it is that brings 
its strong report, will not believe but that the crystal- 
vested troop are chanting forth some chimes of airy music, 
or some according strains of triumph in the tones of their 
delight. A flight of most delicately colored pigeons light 
at times upon the pavement; at times covers every u coin 
of vantage " on the cathedral. Sacred and mystic birds ! 
They are of the family of those pearly feathered tribes of 
St. Marc, which are said to have come, like much of that 
temple and its religion, from the mysterious East. A pair 



MILAN CATHEDRAL. 141 

of these birds were brought to Milan a few years ago, and 
there is now a numerous flock. 

A striking peculiarity of the duomo of Milan, is that it 
is built entirely of statuary-marble. Some portions of the 
stone, especially above the roof, have a roseate or reddish 
hue which, wrought into statuettes and bas-reliefs, form a 
delightful effect. The darkening of this stone by age has 
produced an appropriate and agreeable effect : for the tower 
part seems to have shared the stains of earth to which it 
is rooted, while the higher portions bloom in the arum-like 
whiteness of their virgin quarry. The roof is nearly flat, 
and very neatly paved with marble ; and numerous turrets 
and pinnacles, set with statues or statuettes, rise around 
and upon it. The number of the figures now peopling the 
exterior is said to be above 3,000; and the design when 
completed will include 6,000. Many of these figures are 
by sculptors of the first reputation ; three or four by Ca- 
nova. They bear and, indeed, require examination by a 
glass. ' That higher, open temple which is thus built and 
populated upon the top of the duomo, vaulted by the 
heavens, and lighted by the sun and stars, is a world of cu- 
rious and delightful intricacy. The religious finish of every 
f alette, and figure, and bas-relief, even in places where the 
eye cannot approach them except by extraordinary aids; 
the inscriptive dedications beneath the little shrines, so 
removed that human gaze cannot decipher them, pro- 
duces a singular and profound feeling. It seems as if 
they might be shrines which were wrought for the glory of 
heaven and the solace of God's nightly angels. The view 
which the summit commands, with the whole line of the rus- 
set-tinted snow-peaks of the Alps along the north, and the 
ocean-plain of Lombardy in the south, with the great roads 
that radiate from the city, so foreshortened that they seem 
as if rising directly upward, is one of rare and memorable 



142 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

interest. Walk at twilight or evening upon the plain that 
surrounds the walls of the city; and you will see the 
countless pinnacles of this temple shooting up through -the 
grey air like some light play of the borealis; and you will 
fear that it will have vanished in the moon-beams before 
you can reach it. 

When you enter this cathedral, if the splendid expanse 
before you be not sublime, it is only because it is so beau- 
tiful that wonder is absorbed in exquisiteness of enjoy- 
ment. The dimensions are imposing. The height of the 
nave is 153 feet, it extends between a series of nine arches 
through a magnificent distance to the transept. There are 
double aisles on each side of it, also of great width; and 
'the slenderness of the piers throws the whole into one 
general effect. The piers rise to a prodigious height, and 
seem to bend gracefully at the top like the expanding cup 
of a lily. They seem too slight to support, with so slender 
arches, the lofty roof, but look ! clustered round the top of 
each pier is again a band of angels, who seem to have 
taken the building under their especial care, and who give 
assurance that the elevated vault will safely be sustained. 

ST. PETER'S, ROME. 

From whatever part of the surrounding country you 
look at Rome, the object that chiefly strikes the eye and 
the mind is St. Peter's. In visible, as in moral impres- 
sion, it forms, in modern times, the great representative- 
feature of the Historic City. As you come in from Civita 
Vecchia, along the sternest and dreariest road upon earth, 
through the blasted reign of Tarquin, crumbled over with 
ruins of such antiquity that, in comparison with them, the 
oldest remains of Rome seem to be of a modern date- 
suddenly, from a rise in the road, you get sight of the 



st. peter's, rome. 143 

dome, lifting up its whole mass above the crest of Monte 
Mario. So distinct is it, that it looks within a stone's 
throw; yet the distance is fifteen miles. As you whirl 
impatiently along, with accelerating pace, the huge object 
becomes larger and larger, till, in your excited and con- 
founded imagination, it seems expanding into a vastness 
that only astonishment and wonder can embrace ; and 
when, at last, you pass the barrier of the hills, and enter 
the Porta Cavalleggieri, and the glittering vision of im- 
mensity is dashed, in its entireness, upon your spirit, you 
shrink, almost, with a sense of your insignificance, and 
feel as if St. Peter's were Home, and Rome were the world. 
Thus far, not a tower or temple or palace, save this, has 
met your eye, and none was needed. The whole idea of 
Roman majesty and Roman force, — in arms, in laws, in 
faith — classic, mediaeval, and modern — all that swells upon 
the memory and the soul, when the name of Rome is 
sounded, — is flashed before the sentiments in that great, 
dazzling structure. As your eye labors upward from its 
mountain-founded base to its sun-silvered pinnacles, or 
follows the endless sweep of its colonnade, — all the notional 
little differences of sects and country melt into nothing ; 
and your kindled sympathies snatch this universal temple 
from all partial appropriation, and claim it as Man's great 
monument of tribute to the All-Sovereign, — as the natural 
and everlasting shrine of the Religion of Humanity. It 
asks no inscription of its character or purpose ; it needs no 
solemn dedication from Pontiff borne on high by mitred 
train ; it wears eternally, in its own greatness, its own in- 
herent stamp of spiritual significance and divine awe ; — 
holy through its vastness and its beauty ; — self-consecrated 
to acts of worship and thoughts of reverence, by the crea- 
tive inspiration which it embodies and represents. Its 
glory was conceived within that element which is the 



144 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

supra-mortal in man, and it will ever reproduce kindred 
emotion in him that approaches it. It is a spectacle to 
set on flame religious sensibility, where it exists, and 
waken or create it in hearts where it slumbered or was 
wanting. 

If you travel from Naples, and enter the city on the 
southern side, the first view you have of Rome is from the 
hill of Albano, some fourteen or sixteen miles off; a sight- 
to be much-remembered of him upon whose eyes, for the 
first time, it opens. St. Peter's is at the most remote edge 
of the capital, and your view of it is athwart all that rears 
itself aloft of the yet-living power of princes, and all that 
remains of the grandeur of a line of emperors — the coliseum 
being the nearest object to you. Yet, at all this disadvan- 
tage, St. Peter's seems to be the urbs Roma, and all the 
rest only irregular suburbs cowering around its base. 
Stand at mid-day, and look from the Alban lake or moun- 
tain towards the pale masses of the seven-hilled metropolis, 
which the golden richness of the languid atmosphere melts 
into an airy and mystic spectre of departing power. St. 
Peter's, with its beak-like cupola rising out of the yellowish 
masses that flank it, assumes to the musing fancy the 
mythic semblance of an eagle — Rome's once-tutelary and 
ever-symbolizing bird — lonely, drooping, and forlorn, yet 
ominous ; crouching on the height whence of old it flew 
with a shriek over the world; quenching in dim listless- 
ness those orbs from which once flashed fires that were the 
light, the lode-star, and the terror of the nations; folding 
feebly around itself wings which, when stretched abroad 
in pride of flight, darkened, to half the earth, the sun in 
heaven. 

From no position, however, does St. Peter's appear in 
such strange, solemn, mysterious imprcssiveness, as from 
the hill-slopes of Tivoli. From that point of view, the 



st. peter's, rome. 145 

Campagiia lies gloomily beneath you, covered with the dark 
purple of the low mist which always rests upon it, and 
bounded in the distance by the golden waters of the Medi- 
terranean. Not a battlement, — not a turret, — not a spire 
of Rome can be made out, — save one. From the centre 
of the sombre plain below you, the whole Dome of St. 
Peter's looms up against the bright horizon, — black, wierd, 
portentous*. The Campagna looks like an ocean of dusky 
waters, and St. Peter's like a huge ship riding alone upon 
its wastes. 

What a world within Life's open world is the interior 
of St. Peter's ! — a world of softness, brightness, and rich- 
ness ! — fusing the sentiments in a refined rapture of tran- 
quillity, — gratifying the imagination with splendors more 
various, expansive, and exhaustless than the natural uni- 
verse from which we pass, — typical of that sphere of spiri- 
tual consciousness, which, before the inward-working 
energies of Faith, arches itself out within man's mortal 
being. When you push aside the heavy curtain that veils 
the sanctuary from the [MS. wanting] without, what a 
shower of high and solemn pleasure is thrown upon your 
spirit ! A glory of beauty fills all the Tabernacle. The 
majesty of a Perfection, that seems fragrant of delightful- 
ness, fills it like a Presence. Grandeur, strength, solidity, 
— suggestive of the fixed Infinite, — float unsphered within 
those vaulted spaces, like clouds of lustre. The immen- 
sity of the size, — the unlimitable richness of the treasure 
that has been lavished upon its decoration by the enthusi- 
astic prodigality of the Catholic world through successive 
centuries, — dwarfs Man and the Present, and leaves the 
soul open to sentiments of God and Eternity. The eye, 
as it glances along column and archway, meets nothing but 
variegated marbles and gold. Among the ornaments of 
the obscure parts of the walls and piers, are a multitude 



146 THE CATHEDRALS OP THE CONTINENT. 

of pictures, vast in magnitude, transcendent in merit, — 
the master-pieces of the world, — the communion of St. 
Jerome, — the Burial of St. Petronilla, — the Transfigura- 
tion of the Saviour, — not of perishable canvass and oils, 
but wrought in mosaic, and fit to endure till Time itself 
shall perish. 

It is the sanctuary of Space and Silence. No throng 
can crowd these aisles ; no sound of voices or of organs 
can displace the venerable quiet that broods here. The 
Pope, who fills the world with all his pompous retinue, 
fills not St. Peter's; and the roar of his quired singers, 
mingling with the sonorous chant of a host of priests and 
bishops, struggles for an instant against this ocean of still- 
ness, and then is absorbed into it like a faint echo. The 
mightiest ceremonies of human worship, — celebrated by 
the earth's chief Pontiff, sweeping along in the magnifi- 
cence of the most imposing array that the existing world 
can exhibit, — seem dwindled into insignificance within this 
structure. They do not explain to our feelings the uses of 
the building. As you stand within the gorgeous, celestial 
dwelling — framed not for man's abode — the holy silence, 
the mysterious fragrance, the light of ever-burning lamps, 
suggest to you that it is the home of invisible spirits, — an 
outer-court of Heaven, — visited, perchance, in the deeper 
hours of a night that is never dark within its walls, by the 
all-sacred Awe itself. 

When you enter St. Peter's, Eeligion, as a local reality 
and a separate life, seems revealed to you. Far up the 
wide nave, the enormous baldachino of jetty bronze, with 
twisted columns and tint-like canopy, and a hundred brazen 
lamps, whose unextinguished flame keeps the watch of 
Light around the entrance to the crypt where lie the mar- 
tyred remains of the Apostle, the rock of the church, give 
an oriental aspect to the central altar, which seems to 



st. peter's, rome. 147 

typify tne origin of the Faith which reared this Fane. 
Holiest of the holy is that altar. No step less sacred than 
a Pope's may ascend to minister before it : only on days 
the most august in the calendar, may even the hand which 
is consecrated by the Ring of the Fisherman be stretched 
forth to touch the vessels which rest on it. At every hour, 
over some part of the floor, worshippers may be seen kneel- 
ing, wrapt each in solitary penitence or adoration. The 
persons mystically habited, who journey noiselessly across 
the marble, bow and cross themselves, as they pass before 
this or that spot, betoken the recognition of something 
mysterious, that is unseen, invisible. By day illuminated 
by rays only from above, by night always luminous within 
— filled by an atmosphere of its own, which changes not 
with the changing cold and heat of the seasons without, — 
exhaling always a faint, delightful perfume, — it is the 
realm of piety — the clime of devotion — a spiritual globe in 
the midst of the material universe. 

As a creation of Art, — that is to say, as a work symbolic 
of spiritual conceptions or emotions, — St. Peter's stands in 
a class by itself. It belongs to a different generic order of 
Art from the old Teutonic cathedrals of Germany, France 
and England; and is as perfectly an aesthetic embodiment 
of the modern or Italian Catholic religion, as they were 
types of that elder, wilder and more spiritual faith that 
held in solution with it those vital elements that afterwards 
passed off in the form of Protestantism. The Gothic art- 
ist, rearing a vast structure, sought to make it appear yet 
loftier and more extended than it was. He meant that the 
imagination should lose itself in the effort to compass and 
measure its endless vistas ; — should falter and droop on the 
wing in its endeavor to soar to the summit of its dizzying 
concave. To this end, the height and length of the Cathe- 
dral, especially in France and England, where, and not in 



148 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

Germany, this architecture developed itself most intelli- 
gently , were great in proportion to the width. The pil- 
lars are usually lofty in comparison with their thickness, 
and stand at small intervals from one another. A slight 
joint-like capital connects them with the pointed arches, 
which, continuing the same mouldings, and exhibiting al- 
most the same ordonnance, appear not to be a different 
member, but rather a prolongation of the upright shafts, 
which have an appearance of converging at the top, from 
the great height to which they are extended. Thus no- 
thing intercepts, but all things aid, the illusion which car- 
ries the eye upward along the clustered pillar till it loses 
itself into the gently-bending arch. In like manner, if a 
stranger, entering one of the western doors, sought the 
cloven tongue of fire which, in the sanctuary, ever hangs 
like an aureole around the summit of the sacred candle- 
stick upon the altar — a memory and a sign of that flame 
which, in worship, comes down from heaven to kindle the 
hearts of the faithful — it was to be seen trembling at the 
dim extremity of a forest-like vista of arching shafts, which 
a thousand cross-lights bewildered the eye in its attempt 
to traverse. The finite melting itself into the infinite, — 
the material shading away into the ideal, — were the effects 
which the religious builders of France and England con- 
templated. A different faith possessed their souls who 
framed St. Peter's, — Roman as distinct from Catholic, — 
and a variant inspiration, by consequence, informed their 
imaginations. When I stood for the first time within St. 
Peter's — newly from the great cathedrals of the G-othic 
race, to which also Milan, built by German architects, be- 
longs — it was with a feeling of that sort of surprise which 
flickers upon the edge of disappointment. No such tranc- 
ing emotion as that which Ely, and Winchester, and 
Amiens, and Strasbourg had dashed over me, was I con- 



st. peter's, rome. 149 

scious of. Nay, the moment I began to analyze the me- 
thods that were employed in the work, it appeared obvious 
that the artists had made use of every mechanical means 
that could cause the building to look smaller than it other- 
wise might. I must either suppose that the joint master- 
piece in architecture of Michael Angelo, Rafael and Bra- 
mante was a combination of errors — a series of violations 
of the plainest laws of effect in art — or, I must reverse 
my conception of the idea, purpose and sentiment of this 
new style of creation, and study to derive its design and 
laws from the work itself. My intellectual reverence for 
Michael Angelo quickly determined which of these views 
to adopt. The true aesthetic notion of St. Peter's, I take 
to be this : 

The artist sets out with a structure, really and actually, 
of stupendous dimensions. For example, the height of the 
roof of the nave arch from the floor is the same with the 
height of the choir of Cologne, or the choir and transepts 
of Beauvais, — those Titanic fragments of a mightier age 
which itself broke down under the impracticable task it 
had assumed ; — and that is twice the height of the Abbey 
at Westminster. Yet at Rome's St. Peter's, this vast alti- 
tude is only the base, the pedestal, whence the real eleva- 
tion of the building soars on high. According to the true 
apprehension of these Byzantine temples — for such, in 
origin, are all these dome-crowned crosses — it is the great 
central canopy which constitutes the body of the structure ; 
and that, here, standing upon the nave, choir and transepts 
as upon a supporting platform, swells thence aloft to more 
than twice their height. Of the airy space comprehended 
within the building, an impression may be derived from 
the circumstance before referred to, that the atmosphere 
has a fixed, mean temperature of its own, not sensibly 
changed by variations in the outer air — so that it always 

13* 



150 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

feels, and is, comparatively, warm in winter and cool in 
summer ; a phenomenon not observable, in a decided de- 
gree, in any other structure in the world, but to be found 
in some certain natural cavities of great extent — such as 
the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. A magnitude, posi- 
tively and veritably immense, being thus assumed, the art- 
ist's design is to deal with it in such a way as to bring it 
as near as possible to the common apprehension and sym- 
pathies of the spectator : not, literally speaking, to make 
it look as small as possible, — an expression which would be 
faulty, in as much as it would treat the eye and not the 
imagination as the medium addressed by a production of 
Art, — but yet, at least, to make its unminshable greatness 
familiar and conciliating to his affections. Note what at 
once presents itself to your attention as you pause in the 
centre of the nave, and look round you to observe and feel. 
The size of objects that are at a distance above the eye is 
clearly increased in far more than may be called the just 
proportion of their remoteness ; so that the capitals of pi- 
lasters above an hundred feet off have a distinctness that 
makes them seem but a little way off from us. Where 
the vault of the nave springs from the side piers, the up- 
ward lines are broken by a heavy, terminating cornice, and 
by a broad, transverse architrave ; and further to baffle and 
expel all possibility of continuity with the marbled and 
fluted pilasters, the ceiling is composed of small, richly- 
gilded panels. The width of the nave and aisles is also 
exceedingly great; so as to bring down the height. But, 
without going into detailed illustration, it is enough to 
note, generally, that the following principles are acted 
upon throughout the whole interior : — The lines, whether 
straight or curve, are everywhere broken as much as possi- 
ble; a high and fine degree of finish — embracing particu- 
larly a great diversity of rich and warm coloring — is exhi- 



st. peter's, rome. 151 

bited throughout every part, — over the distant surfaces of 
the airy cupolas and the retiring nooks of wall and ceiling. 
Remote things, — such as statues, inscriptions, mosaic 
figures, — are made to seem strangely near at hand, in con- 
sequence of the exaggerated dimensions in which they are 
executed. There is, therefore, nothing overwhelming in 
the first effect of the interior of St. Peter's. You are not 
overpowered, bowed down, abased in terror or in tears, as 
you are upon going into almost the meanest of the English 
Cathedrals. When you gaze upward through the grey 
wastes of Beauvais Cathedral, which has about the same 
height, you draw back appalled — you shudder with the 
fear of a mental aneantissement. But, the stupendous, 
the monstrous, the prodigious, — which were effects inhe- 
rent in the dimensions of St. Peter's — have been completely 
absorbed, or dissipated, by the multitudinous resources of 
Art and Diligence which the genius of the builders has 
diffused over the work. 

This, then, is the characteristic impression of the inte- 
rior of St. Peter's, — to approximate the vast, — to familiar- 
ize the great. And from this springs the moral enjoyment 
which it produces; an emotion at once stimulating and 
soothing, — at the same time inspiring and satisfying. You 
seem to taste, as it were, of super-human elements ; to 
have a mortal fruition of the Unbounded, the Ever-during, 
the August : and the intellectual sensation is exquisitely 
sweet. The moral and the spiritual seem to become ex- 
quisitely sensuous in the strong beauties of this shrine of 
the world's hope and comfort. To the fancy of the soul, the 
mighty structure seems like a vast mystic organ, distill- 
ing to our hearts out of the common air of life, the music 
of inward and indestructible Peace ; for, often as I paced 
those marble floors, lost in every delicious emotion that 
gratified intellect and taste could supply, the glories — in- 



152 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

exhaustible, inexpressible and irresistible — of that taber- 
nacle, always translated themselves to my spirit in strains 
of ideal harmonies, — touching, attendering, exalting. As- 
similating from it those heavenly impressions into our sad 
and sorrowing natures, we become insensibly chastened, and 
thereby pardoned. Surely the very Angel of Consolation 
makes those vaulted roofs his ever-chosen dwelling-place. 
Thou, who, disappointed in others, or, more, fatally, disap- 
pointed by thyself, mayest have sought restoration from 
Nature, from Thought or from Endeavor, go, tread those 
long-drawn aisles, day after day, and hour with hour ; — 
mingle thy tears with the dust that pilgrim-feet bring 
thither from the earth's remotest borders, and thou shalt 
hear from the Great Loveliness in-dwelling there, whispers 
of a reconciliation with thyself and of contentment in thy 
hopes. 

And, thus, St. Peter's stands a perpetual type and sym- 
bol of the ultra-Montane, (?) or Italian Catholic System. 
Of all art, the guiding instinct ever is some religious con- 
ception. Art is one of the means by which man strives to 
realize or represent to himself, in Beauty, his spiritual ap- 
prehensions ; in order that he may pour in upon his senses, 
through the avenue which commands the finest sensibili- 
ties of the material frame, the rich ecstasies of spiritual 
consciousness. The just interpretation — the true critical 
canon — of every system of Art will be found in the pre- 
vailing religious emotions or practices of the people among 
whom it springs. It is the character of the Romish sys- 
tem, to materialize the mysteries of spirituality : to make 
faith, in all things sensible : to give visibility and pal- 
pableness to the whole body of religion : to affect the soul 
through the senses by first charging physical things with 
the representative sanctity of an indwelling divineness : to 
realize on earth and in mortal forms, the kingdom of God 






st. peter's, rome. 153 

in its absolute completeness, even to the permanent pre- 
sence of the Head of the church, and the judicial inquisi- 
tion and sovereign remission of sins. And thus does St. 
Peter's, grappling the Indefinite in its Glory, bring it 
down, through symbolic media, to our most familiar recog- 
nition and appropriation. Thus do its broad and heavy 
arches, expanding our thoughts to a certain extent, but 
restricting them from beyond that extent, — crusted over 
with splendors that make the sense almost smart with 
pleasure — seek to embody all the magnificence and all the 
beauties that imagination could accumulate in a further 
and future world — and seem to say, " Here rest, here feed 
on Adoration as a Joy : here is the excellence of existence, 
the fullness of Perfection." The Protestant System, and 
that older, freer faith of the unsevered Church of Christ, 
sent man aloft to heaven, by teaching him to feel the 
nothingness of himself and earth ; and so did the Gothic 
cathedrals, that, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, 
were the unconscious workings, through an aesthetic avenue, 
of that spiritualism of the English, French and German 
nations, which a little later detached itself altogether in 
the theory of Protestantism, annihilate the worshipper 
upon the threshold of the temple, and leave him in hum- 
ble astonishment and awe, at the sublimity of the court of 
the worship of the Lord. The modern Italian system, 
which is the residue of the Catholic faith after the rational 
elements had been drawn off in Protestantism, brings down 
heaven to man, and fills the persons, places, implements 
and services of the church with the full inspiration and 
virtue of divinity. A northern cathedral gratifies by what 
it suggests and leads to ; St. Peter's suggests even more 
by the inexpressible moral gratification which it infuses. 
Like the rites of the church, while it pours a flood of half- 



154 THE CATHEDRALS OF THE CONTINENT. 

bewildered joy through the spirit, yet composes, calms and 
satisfies. This fabric, which the uniting genius of Rafael 
and Michael Angelo gave to the church that lavished its 
patronage upon them, unfolds almost a new means of 
grace ; and embodies well-nigh a new sign of faith. St. 
Peter's is the Sacrament of Art. 



VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 



ISLE OF WIGHT — THE SOLENT — NETLEY ABBEY. 

Netley Abbey, June 6, 1850. 

I reached Ryde on a fine day about noon, and took a 
sailing wherry, mounting two small masts and a jib, for 
Netley Abbey. The water-view of Ryde, looking like a 
nosegay made of green trees and white cottages, and thence 
along the Solent coast of the Isle of Wight, to where, in 
the distance, the yellowish towers of Osborne House glit- 
ter above the forests, and glimpses of the gray, round 
masses of Norris Castle, like some stern, steel-clad warrior, 
are betrayed through the trees upon a point of high land 
beyond — forms a scene not less interesting for its exqui- 
site elegance, than as significant of English character and 
life and taste. Near the long pier stands the stately Club- 
House of the Victoria Yacht Club; next it, a low cot- 
tage built and occupied by the late Duke of Bucks ; and 
further on, girt by trees, the residence of the late Earl 
Spencer. Then, bowered among profusest expanses of 
foliage, the lovely church and rectory of Binstead — a few 
thatched cottages nestled in a " boundless contiguity of 
shade" — the trees being just not too crowded to prevent 
the form of each from being seen. Immediately beyond, 
are the ruins of the old Cistercian monastery of Quarr — 
•the recumbent ground presenting to the river a clear, 
bright sward, aot less enchanting than the woods of Bin- 



156 VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 

stead; the gray, lance-like arches of the wasted Abbey 
overtopping the woods that strive to hide the wrong. The 
view upon the opposite side of the Solent, towards Ports- 
mouth, though of a very different character, is also fine. 
In the distance, on the end of Portsdown Hill, Nelson's 
monument is distinctly seen. As I was wafted gently 
along the calm waters, I saw upon the muddy edge of the 
wave, the tide being low, a bending, venerable figure, 
which might have served for the type of Wordsworth's 
Leech-Gatherer. He was engaged, as I learned, in fishing 
for shrimps. He used a hand-net, with which he scraped 
along the weeds on the margins of the little inlets that 
indented the shore. Another mode of taking these favorite 
little dainties, is by a kind of cage, which is baited with 
small crabs, and let down into the water, to attract the fish 
into it. Great quantities of shrimps are obtained along 
the coast. 

Moving onward, a few tiltings of the boat over the glassy 
wave brought us opposite to the domain of Osborne House. 
On the edge of these grounds stands a lovely cottage with 
a lawn in front, circled by a ring of oaks coming down to 
the water. The spot is called the King's Cave, and is 
identified by tradition as the covert where King Charles 
was caught among the trees, when he had made an escape 
from Carisbrook Castle. It would appear from this legend, 
which I think is not taken notice of in the histories, that 
the oak, which a little later became a Royal tree, was at 
that time in the Parliamentary interest, and was as unfa- 
vorable to the hopes of the father as it afterwards became 
propitious to the fortunes of the son. The cottage was 
built by Lady Holmes, but the site has recently been pur- 
chased by the Queen and annexed to Osborne, and now 
forms the eastern boundary of her manor. The lesson of 
Frederic and the windmill, it seems, was repeated in the 



VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 157 

case of the adjoining estate, which her Majesty is said to 
have been extremely anxious to buy, but which the pro- 
prietor still stoutly refuses to sell to her. The view of 
Osborne House from the water is good. It stands at the 
top of the ascending ground, about three-quarters of a mile 
from the shore, is built of cream-colored stone, and con- 
sists of a large square building, connected with a tower on 
either side, by means of galleries, having two rows of ample 
arched windows. Adjoining the west tower is a wing; 
and it is intended to construct one on the other side to cor- 
respond with it. The grounds have little elegance. An 
irregular park, with a few straggling trees, bounded on 
either side by thickly-forested hills, descends to the beach, 
where a pier is built for the Queen to land. The little 
steamer Fairy brings her down, and in fine weather anchors 
off this shore, and the Queen lands in a small boat. If the 
wind is high, the steamer comes to at Trinity Wharf, East 
Cowes. There are three private steamers in the service of 
royalty — the Fairy, a richly decorated and elegant little 
craft, which she uses at the Isle of Wight — a larger one, 
equally exquisite, though plainer and more business-like, 
which she employs on more distant excursions — and an- 
other, called the milk-boat, which brings supplies and 
despatches, and is almost constantly shooting between the 
Medina river and the Portsmouth dock. The flag now 
streaming from the turrets of Osborne, proclaims that her 
Majesty is beneath its roof. 

Next beyond Osborne, is a place of infinite interest and 
beauty — Norris Castle, built by the late Lord Henry Sey- 
mour, and now owned by Mr. Bell, who has expended forty 
thousand pounds in improving it. A sea-wall embank- 
ment sustains a lawn of clean, bright velvet turf, diversi- 
fied by clumps of neat shrubbery, and rising gently to a 
considerable height. The castle, which stands within 
14 



158 VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 

three hundred yards of the water, presents a grand and 
noble appearance. It is in that stern yet elegant style, 
called in England, not incorrectly, the Norman Gothic, 
and is of great extent and magnificence. It has several 
light square towers, and one enormous round keep tower, 
which immediately summons up visions of the days of the 
donjon, the moat, the barbican, the portcullis, and all those 
conventionalisms of the middle ages which we read of so 
profusely in Scott and James. The towers, and almost 
the whole structure, are mantled by thick, dark ivy. Lord 
Henry, of whose patrician toils and lonely thoughts it was 
long the haunt, appears to have been one of those charac- 
ters not very uncommon among the younger sons of the 
highest nobility — an eccentric but kindly recluse, whose 
birth and honors, recorded with great simplicity upon a 
tasteful slab in the village church of Whippingham, I had 
read a day or two before, but whose true epitaph was to be 
found in the comment of the weather-stained tar beside 
me, who observed, with a wistful shake of the head, that 
u he was very good to the poor." He lived here to a great 
age — one of that wise class of men called bachelors — 
spending his whole income upon his estate, and always 
employing seventy or eighty men at work. He wrought 
habitually among his laborers, as one of themselves, and was 
not to be distinguished by dress, wearing a blue jacket, 
duck trowsers, and a glazed hat. As you come opposite 
the Medina river, a stream which divides the Isle of Wight 
into two nearly equal parts, the view of East and West 
Cowes, on opposite sides of the stream, is extremely neat; 
the former presenting, at the point, a circular lawn of 
shining verdure, varied by a profusion of clustered trees ; 
the other circling and crowning a lofty hill, its houses re- 
lieved by quantities of elms, while at its base frowns the 
grim, burly, old storm-whitened fortress of Cowes Castle. 



VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 159 

The channel, or sound, as we should term it, which 
separates the Isle of Wight from England, is called the 
Solent Sea. Nearly opposite to Cowes, there extends into 
the land an estuary or bay, called Southampton Water, at 
the head of which is the town of that name. Stretching 
across in that direction, my little craft glided pleasantly 
along, under a breeze just moderate enough to suffer the 
eye to linger as long as it loved upon the many picturesque 
sites that succeeded one another in all directions. West- 
ward of Southampton Water, bowered in the outskirts of 
New Forest, famed as the scene of the death of Rufus, 
stood Eaglehurst Castle — a romantic assemblage of low 
towers, surmounted by one slender tower shooting far into 
the air. It is now the residence of the Lord Cavern. 
Rounding the point, we pass under Calshot Castle, stand- 
ing on a flat blank hook of sand that reached out into 
Southampton Water, surrounded by a fortification bristling 
with cannon. This is the principal stronghold of the men 
engaged in the preventive service, but was originally built 
by Henry VIII., to defend the coast from pirates; and its 
vast swollen rotundity suggests the notion that the cincture 
of the royal stomach must have served as the model of its 
proportions. Nearly opposite, on the Hants coast, is a 
beautiful place, called Hornby Castle, the seat of an East 
Indian Governor of that name. 

The shores of Southampton Water, as you sail upward, 
present, on either side, a brilliant variety of light green 
fields and dark rich forests; with small churches, cottages 
and stately dwelling-houses interspersed through the scene. 
Sometimes you pass in front of a wheat field clothing a 
slope in yellow vesture ; sometimes you view a smoothly- 
shaven lawn, extending to the water's edge, with a few 
round-topped trees shedding their quiet shade upon the 
bright herbage 5 sometimes your fancy is caught and be- 



160 VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 

wildered by masses of sombre forest. On the left, one 
catches a gleam of Cadland, the noble home of Mr. Drum- 
mond, hardly to be discerned for the prodigality of foliage 
that envelopes it. On the right, as you advance, is a large 
stone dwelling, of fine castellated aspect, the property and 
residence of Sir Arthur Paget. A short distance further 
brings us to Netley Castle, a substantial, towered structure, 
rising out of the water ; the castle, built by Henry VIII., 
and the tower added of late years by Mr. Chamberlayne, 
the proprietor of the whole of Netley. The popular belief 
is, that a subterranean passage, which is seen leading from 
the Abbey, connects it, or once connected it, with the cas- 
tle ; but this, I believe, is but an old woman's tale. As I 
had reached my destination, we called a man from the 
shore, who came off in a small boat, and landed me at the 
castle, while the honest tar who had brought me from Byde 
proceeded to Southampton with my luggage. 

I have rarely witnessed a scene of more tranquil and 
touching loveliness than that which extended around me 
as I advanced, through a short walk, to the Abbey. As- 
cending a gentle elevation, I passed through a lane skirted 
by trim hedges and shaded with small trees, glittering with 
that freshness, delicacy and elegance, which are peculiarly 
characteristic of the English landscape. The day was 
mild, and unusually clear. A cloudless sky expanded its 
soft and pearl-like hues overhead ; and the voices of night- 
ingales and thrushes resounded among the branches. A 
turn in the road presently brought me upon the magnifi- 
cent remains of this famous Abbey. The lofty, roofless 
walls, with numerous ash-trees of great size growing within 
and around them, and the empty window arches, lined 
with ivy, or sprouting with shrubs, aided by a religious 
stillness which seemed to be deepened rather than disturbed 
by the occasional discordant scream of birds high in the 






VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 161 

air, snatched me away from the present, startling the fancy 
like a weird memento of by-gone ages, which had long out- 
lived its time, and projected the life of the thirteenth cen- 
tury into the nineteenth. A flight of jet-black rooks and 
daws, cawing an ominous requiem, hovered above the fallen 
form of greatness, and seemed to announce to the passer-by 
the unburied remains of violated sanctity. 

A pretty complete picture of ecclesiastical life, six cen- 
turies ago, would be furnished by filling up and reclothing, 
in imagination, the skeleton which the dismantled apart- 
ments of Netley present. The building was founded about 
the year 1240, and, being erected at the time when the 
early English was at its perfection — being refined from its 
first plainness, and not yet dilated into the luxuriousness 
of Decorated — it is a good specimen of the richest and best 
type of that style, in its purity. It was a monastery of 
the White Monks or Cistercians, a reformed scion of the 
Clugniac order, whose own degeneracy, ere long, roused 
the unsparing hand of a more fierce reformer. It is honor- 
able to the religious character of the founders, that the 
principal and largest, and by far the most splendid portion 
of the monastery, was the chapel. I entered the Abbey 
by the west door of the chapel, over which is a large win- 
dow, there being also windows at the side of it, terminating 
the side aisles. Advancing a little way up what was once 
the nave, I obtained an interior view of the spacious ruin, 
which was wonderfully grand, and impressive, and beauti- 
ful. The form is the usual one of a cross, and the walls 
are perfect, except the north transept, which has been de- 
molished. The length of the church is about two hundred 
feet, and the width sixty feet. The length of the cross, 
when perfect, was a hundred and twenty feet. The walls, 
long-wise, comprise eight sets of beautiful triple lancet 
windows, enclosed in one larger lancet arch. On the south 

14* 



162 VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 

side of the nave the windows are open only at the top, 
"being shortened on account of the cloisters which were 
ranged along the outside. The great east window is still 
perfect, and of the utmost beauty; the arch-mouldings 
being surprisingly rich and delicate, and deep. No part 
of the roof remains, except over the side aisle of the south 
transept, where the bosses are of great delicacy and finish. 
A few ornaments over the arches of the end of the south 
transept, and a leaf moulding or two and the end of some 
of the corbels, and the slight, shapely terminations of the 
arches of the ceiling, which still extend a foot or two above 
their spring, all denote that the ceiling was once vaulted 
and fretted in a style of airy and sumptuous tracery work. 
At the corner made by the choir and south transept, a neat 
spiral staircase in the wall leads to the roof of the side 
aisles, around which there is a safe walk over a great part 
of the church. The prospect, as you look southward from 
the balcony at the top of the staircase, is a flash of tend- 
erer beauty upon a scene already charming, like a snowy 
smile upon a countenance which before had seemed too 
exquisite for reality. Bordered by grassy slopes, be- 
sprinkled with villas and trees and castles, and bounded in 
the distance by the shores of the Isle of Wight, spread the 
blue expanses of Southampton Water, upon whose calm- 
ness a few drooping sails, floating with the tide, impress a 
more earnest quiet. The very spirits of peace, and purity, 
and happiness, seemed to rest upon the landscape, and to 
breathe their consecration over it. Such a scene, looked 
out upon in by-gone days, might have stirred to a deeper 
religion hearts that were fresh from the fervors of the 
sanctuary. With this spectacle before one, there would 
be no great hesitation in assenting to the etymology which 
the learned assign to the name of Netley — which they tell 
you is corrupted from Letley, an English abbreviation of 



VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 163 

Lcetus Locus, or Pleasant Place ; Abbatium de Lceto Loco 
being the Latin name given to the place in Dugdale, and 
other ancient chroniclers. 

Passing through a door in the east aisle of the south 
transept, you enter a small-roofed apartment, which was 
probably the sacristy, where the sacred vessels and furni- 
ture of the church were kept. Thence, in a line with the 
transept, extend the domestic apartments of the monastery. 
The first is the Chapter House, where the official business 
of the abbey was transacted. It is about thirty-six feet 
square, and the roof remains entire. Three very elegantly- 
moulded arched doorways, adjoining to one another, opened 
upon the cloister-court, or fountain-court, as it was called ; 
but two of them are now blocked up, and only one is open 
for passage. On the opposite side are three beautiful triple 
windows, corresponding with the doors. The brackets, 
from which a groined arch formerly sprang, remain in the 
corners. Next is an arched passage-way, giving admission 
from the east court, and beyond it, in the same line, is a 
kind of ante-room to the refectory, which we may suppose 
to have served as a drawing-room for the monks. Then 
comes the refectory, a grand apartment, a hundred and 
forty-five feet in length by .twenty-five, formerly with 
groined arches, now roofless and open to the sky. In the 
very centre, shoots up an enormous ash, at least two feet 
in diameter, and apparently not less than two centuries 
old. Its enormous gnarled roots seem to clutch the earth 
as with the fierce talon of a thing of prey. Next is a cor- 
ner-room, supposed to have been a pantry, and adjoining 
it, on the east, is the large kitchen, forty-eight feet by 
eighteen, and once vaulted. The chimney, particularly, 
attracted my attention. It is entirely in the style of the 
rest of the building, but massive, and appropriate to its 
place and purpose. It projects far, and in the corner which 



164 VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 

it makes with the wall, is a stone shelf, also thoroughly in 
keeping. •► To trace, in the several apartments of the mo- 
nastery, the gradations and adaptation in the characteristics 
of the style of architecture, from the exquisite poetry of 
the chapel, almost spiritual in its delicacy, and boundlessly 
lavish in its elaboration, through the intermediate rooms, 
till you come to the solid and plain kitchen-chimney and 
kitchen-shelf, affords an illustration not only of the fine 
and true taste of the builders of these houses, but of the 
resources and ductility of the art they dealt with. All is 
beautiful, and all of the same character of architecture, but 
varying in degree of elegance according to the uses of the 
place. This stone-shelf, for example, is not only as thor- 
oughly Gothic, but it is as distinctively Early English 
Gothic, as the gorgeous wheel in the top of the great east 
window of the choir ; yet the one is as suitable for the re- 
pose of dredging-boxes and skewers, as the other is worthy 
to receive the first golden rays of the festal morning. The 
whole structure is one homogeneous creation of Art — an 
Art so complete that nothing could soar above its powers 
of expression, and nothing could fall below the range of its 
appropriate forms. You may trace the same air running 
through the whole composition, though it one while -blos- 
soms into melodies, and at another roughens almost into 
discord — traversing with natural grace the entire gamut of 
human sympathies, from the high sacred to the low sen- 
sible. 

Going back to the Chapter House, and stepping out 
through the door which remains unclosed, you come into 
what is called the fountain-court. It is a quadrangle, 
formed by the south side of the nave aisle as its north 
boundary, the south transept and range of domestic apart- 
ments as its east side, and lofty walls on the south and 
west. It is, no doubt, the cloisters; and the west and 



VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 165 

north walls formerly supported ranges of rooms for the 
monks, as is yet indicated by numerous corbels along them, 
whence the arched roofs of those apartments sprang. It 
was to accommodate these dormitories that the side-win- 
dows of the south aisle of the nave are open only at the 
top. At the south side of this court is the principal door- 
way to the abbey. 

I threaded my way back into the church, and reposed 
myself at the foot of one of the large trees that stand within 
it. Three centuries of decay rest undisturbed upon the 
shrine of ancient Faith. The floor is covered with the 
rubbish of arches and columns, and overgrown with a pro- 
fusion of flowers. Bushes, almost trees in size, grow upon 
the top of the wall over the east window. An immense 
mass of black ivy, from the outside, fills up the side-win- 
dows of the choir, and pushes far into the chapel, with the 
ominous, menacing aspect of a dark, ruthless foe pressing 
on resistlessly to overwhelm his devoted victim. The lofty 
and thinly-foliaged ash-trees, that overtop the chapel and 
cover it in, serve as a sort of embowered roof, and cast that 
shaded light through the interior which its ancient charac- 
ter as well as its modern condition render appropriate. It 
needed but little aid from fancy to feel that nature, with 
religious instinct, had been busied in concealing and re- 
pairing the ravages of man ; had pleased herself, through 
successive years, to arch anew the fallen ceiling, and re- 
construct the long perspective of the aisles. I sat musing 
for some time in this interesting ruin, which is now an 
august, and lovely cathedral of natural sentiment as it once 
was of holy truth. Every few minutes a great cawing of 
rooks or jackdaws would break out, or a sudden flight of 
those dusky birds would darken the checkered earth. Ruin 
seemed to have invested itself in its most enchanting traits, 
as if to reconcile us to its devastation of so much elegance; 



166 VISIT TO NETLEY ABBEY. 

and I knew not whether most to mourn the structure which 
once was so peerless, or to love the destruction which had 
made it yet more captivating in overthrow. It was a spot 
to supply the artist with studies of the picturesque ; to in- 
spire the poet with suggestions of sentiment ; to instruct 
and reprove the moralist with lessons of human passion 
and earthly vicissitude. Like a ruined maid, with her thin 
locks dishevelled around her wan yet winning beauties, 
sitting in the patience of her long despair, the pensive 
graces of the spot seemed almost to touch the sources of 
personal sympathy. I have viewed Tintern, and Melrose, 
and Roslin, and Holyrood ; but I remember nothing that 
approaches the pathetic loveliness of Netley. I brought 
away with me a few ivy leaves from the east window, and 
a flower or two from the floor of the chapel, as remem- 
brances of the meditative hour which I passed beneath the 
shadow of this twice sacred fane ; and I bade adieu to 
beautiful Netley with emotions of melancholy and delight. 
A walk of a couple of miles along the water brought me to 
Southampton. 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 



Chapter I. 



August 27, 1850. At Bale, I met again the fervent 
Rhine; small in size, but shooting past with a copious 
mass of whirling waters, as green as malachite. The town, 
once famed in letters, is now uninteresting. We loitered 
away an hour or two at the museum, examining numerous 
sketches ancl portraits by Holbein, and turning over some 
volumes of autograph correspondence between Martin Lu- 
ther, Zuinglius and Melancthon. The cathedral is a quaint, 
romanesque affair, of the twelfth century, chiefly memora- 
ble for the tomb of that wittiest of the good and gentlest 
of the learned, Erasmus. 

On the following day, I set out for a tour through Swit- 
zerland. We left Basle at six o' clock, for Bienne, through 
the Minister Thai, or Val Moustier, a defile formed by the 
connecting valleys of the Birs and the Suze, which, run- 
ning in opposite directions, cleave the Jura through the 
midst, and give entrance to the heart of Switzerland. The 
morning was fine, but the mists yet lingered in the ravines, 
and, as the sun lighted them up, they resembled solid 
bridges of silver, connecting the adjacent hills. As your 
eye glanced along these vapour-filled valleys, and caught 
sight of a fleecy cloud beyond, it seemed as if a celestial 
ocean lay before you, stretching away in eternity. The 
Birs is a bright, green stream, rapid and dimpling ; and the 



168 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

route follows its course from its mouth, at Basle, to its 
source, in some fountains in a cleft of the Pierre Pertuis 
mountain, which is the summit that divides the rivulets 
that flow towards the Rhine from those that fall into the 
lake of Bienne. It takes its name from an arched rock 
that crosses the road, resembling the Natural Bridge of 
Virginia, though much smaller than that magnificent and 
beautiful object. It formerly marked a boundary between 
two of Caesar's Gallic acquaintance, and upon one side of 
it, is a defaced inscription in which the name Augustus 
may yet be read. Beyond the Pierre Pertuis, the road 
follows the Suze from near its source till it empties into 
the lake Bienne. These streams, several times, cut their 
course directly through the mountain, which skirts the way 
on either side by enormous walls of rock, along which 
shrubbery grows in successive ranges. The scenery, 
throughout, is upon a stupendous scale. The finest portion 
is on the Bienne side of the rock. The Suze, there, breaks 
through the vast barrier, and forms a cascade, of which the 
roar comes to the ear from a great distance below. It 
seems as if the Jura, when the traveler is about to leave 
him, were determined to give one last full display of his 
terrors, and accumulate and range his mightiest shapes in 
lines to over-awe and appal. You move along between cleft 
rocks, so high that the trees that grow on the top-edges 
can scarcely be distinguished. Looking back, you perceive 
yourself to be in a colosseum of nature; an enormous am- 
phitheatrical valley, upon whose walls the sky seems to be 
resting. You turn the angle of the left slope of the Jura, 
and begin to descend into the plain, and the whole pano- 
rama of Switzerland bursts upon you in one splendid spec- 
tacle. Below, at the right, lies the deep-blue lake of Bi- 
enne, and, further on, glitter the waters of Neuchatel. In 
front, are the plain and valley of the Aar, comprehending 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 169 

the space from Thun and Berne to Soleure and Bienne ; 
and beyond it, the entire line of the Bernese Alps. To 
the left, in the distance, are seen the hills of Lucerne, and 
Zug, and Zchwytz. 

Perhaps no intellectual emotion of our maturer life 
comes upon us with so much novelty, and strength, and de- 
light, as that shock of surprise and pleasure which we re- 
ceive from the sight of the snowy pinnacles of the Alps, 
shooting up into the blue heaven, and standing together in 
silent mysterious vastness. It provokes not to expression, 
but sinks upon the stilled heart, with a strange, exquisite 
feeling, essentially spiritual in its solemnity and depth. 
Our native and familiar earth is seen expanding into the 
sublimity of the heavens, and we feel as if our destiny 
were exalted along with it. The wonder and sensibility of 
childhood return upon us. Niagara, — the ocean, — cathe- 
drals, — all these, when seen for the first time, touch chords 
of immortality within our being. But none of them in 
quickness and fineness and depth of force can be equaled to 
the aspect of the Alps. Material and moral qualities com- 
bine to render it the most awing and ennobling that can 
pass before living eyes. There is a calming, elevating, 
consoling influence in the quietness of power, the repose 
of surpassing magnificence, in which these mighty emi- 
nences rest, living out their great lives in silent and motion- 
less serenity ; and our turbulent and troubled souls are re- 
proved and chastened by the spectacle. 

The lake of Bienne is a small but beautiful water. In 
the middle of it, rises to a considerable height, the little 
island of Pierre, which was for some time the resi- 
dence of Rousseau. On the north, Jura cools his feet in 
its wave ; and, towards the south, the Oberland shows 
its sky-piercing peaks. The town of Bienne is a wretched 
village, with few inhabitants, and those ill-looking and un- 
15 



170 NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

cleanly. We were glad to resume our journey to Berne. 
From the top of a hill, a mile or two on the road, the 
view of the Jura range became perfect. It stretched 
away, obliquely, towards Soleure, and was enveloped in the 
indistinct, refracted lustre of the evening sun. Its masses 
of land, rising one after another, in forms of massive great- 
ness, conveyed an image of tranquil and inherent majesty. 
The more distant summits, that were shaded from the de- 
clining sun, were delightfully soft and rich. The effect of 
the Oberland, on the opposite quarter, grew, every mo- 
ment, finer. 

The scenery of Switzerland cannot fairly be compared 
with that of the Rhine, or of any other part of the world. 
It is essentially different. The near view of hill scenery 
is another thing from the distant view of great mountains. 
The sources of interest in the two cases, are distinct, and 
the nature of the beauty dissimilar. In a close view, as 
along the Rhine, excellence consists in the particular shape 
of a peak, — in the grouping of several together, — in the 
character of the surface, whether smooth or irregular, whe- 
ther bare or covered with vegetation, — upon the relation 
of one part with another, and upon a thousand minute cir- 
cumstances that enter into the formation of a good picture. 
But, for a great distant view, there is needed, chiefly, vast 
height and immense range ; and the effects depend upon 
bold outlines, and simple and massive contrasts of light 
and shade. Undoubtedly, the latter is a higher grade of 
impression than the other. It alone brings out that which 
distinguishes mountain scenery in its greatest display from 
all other objects upon the earth. Great mountains are like 
great men ; the true picturesque point of view is a remote 
one. Now, it is only the greatest that have any character 
or interest when so seen. For this, Switzerland is incom- 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 171 

parable. I consider the distant and general views of the 
Alps as superior to any views in their midst. 

Berne is the least refined and least respectable city that 
I saw in Europe. I found but one gentleman in it, and 
had the pleasure of giving him some cakes.* The town is 
worth visiting, chiefly on account of the comprehensive 
view which it affords of the Oberland. To obtain a pros- 
pect which is somewhat noted, I walked up the Enghe hill ; 
but found a better one from the Uranie, behind the Bear's 
Graben, and one still finer from the top of the Minster. 
From that position you enjoy a vision such as no other 
place in Switzerland gives with equal advantage. It is 
midway between the two chains that enclose the land of 
the Helvetii upon the north and the south. The long line 
of the Jura is seen in unequaled grandeur along one ho- 
rizon ; and the greatest of the high Alps tower upward on 
the other. 

The following day I spent at Thun ; and, on the next, 
came to Interlaken, an agreeable place, colonized by En- 
glish. These two days were blanks in the enjoyment of 
the country, for the clouds were heavy and low. I deter- 
mined to wait at the gate of the Oberland for that bright 
weather, without which Switzerland were but a glorious 
picture covered with a veil. Soon it came, in all the mag- 
nificence of cloudless blue. During the 30th and 31st of 
August, the tops of the mountains had been invisible ; but 
when I awoke, at Interlaken, on the 1st of September, and 
sprang to the window to catch the omens of the day, the 
summits of the Jungfrau, with its sharp peak of the Silver 
Horn, the broader mass of the Grosshorn, were gleaming in 
snowy brilliance on the depths of the blue sky ; so sharply 



* The Public Authorities of Berne keep a huge living bear 
in one of the fashionable resorts. — Editor. 



172 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

defined, that they seemed to be within arm's-reach j so 
ethereal that they might be thought infinite in remoteness : 
like Heaven itself, at once the most distant from us, and 
the nearest. Not a vapor fed the hungry clearness of the 
air around those far pinnacles of ice and granite. The 
Jungfrau rises at the opposite end of the Lauterbrunnen 
valley, and is seen through an opening in the nearer hills. 
The glorious spectacle smote me with a paroxysm of impa- 
tient delight. 

I set off in a chaise at eight, with a guide, and drove 
to Lauterbrunnen, a distance of seven miles, to begin 
thence the ascent of the Wengern Alp on foot. On the 
right is passed, near Interlaken, the ruined castle of Un- 
spunnen, which popular feeling, fond of giving particular lo- 
cality to the fictions of genius, has identified with Manfred's 
Castle. The road runs at the edge of the Lutschine, which 
foams along as white as the snows from which it takes its 
rise. A few miles further up, where the Black Lutschine, 
coming down on the left, from Grindenwald, and the white 
Lutschine, from Lauterbrunnen, unite, the prospect is mag- 
nificent. At the head of the scene is Wengen-Berg ; on 
the right, the Eisenfluch ; and on the left a vast mountain 
mass, shattered in the middle into a number of needle- 
shaped peaks. Through the valley of the Black Lutschine, 
there burst upon the sight the grand mass of the snowy 
Wetterhorn, — glittering in the sanctity of its stainless 
white — crescent-shaped on the top, as if it might serve for 
the resting place of the young moon when she descended 
to woo the embraces of Endymion. Pursuing the Lau- 
terbrunnen valley, you pass along through rocky walls of 
great height, till the glaciers of the Bright-horn, a part of 
the Jungfrau, come into sight. Further on, you see all the 
crests of the Jungfrau. The aspect of these silvery ridges 



NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 173 

against the dark side of the Hunnenflue, on the left, is 
inconceivably splendid. 

Near the head of the valley hangs the airy waterfall of 
Staubbach;' apparently creeping downwards from its lofty 
rock, a thousand feet on high; seeming to throw itself 
timidly into the abyss, and to win slowly against the mass 
of air. This retarded appearance in the fall is caused by 
its being broken into mist soon after it leaves the shelf 
over which it is precipitated. The distant view of the ca- 
taract, from the road, when you see it plunging in the face 
of the snowy piles of the Jungfrau, is, perhaps, the most 
imposing that there is. When you are near, you see a 
series of shoots of water, successively dilated into mist. 
The fall, in its centre, is purely vapor ; but, the rock ad- 
vancing somewhat towards the base, it collects again into 
water as it strikes it, and forms a stream at the bottom. 
Approaching closely, you are covered with spray, but see a 
strong, well-defined brilliant rainbow. This singular cata- 
ract seemed to represent the destiny of a Christian soul 
that casts itself into eternity. For a time it is absorbed in 
the ethereal immensity of the medium it would traverse, but 
afterwards regains its identity under a glorious bow of pro- 
mise, and flows on for ever in the mingled stream of cease- 
less life. 

The whole of that mountain is dripping with waterfalls. 
One of them I observed shoots over exactly like a rocket. 
The valley of the Lauterbrunnen, seen from the road on the 
right, affords a beautiful scene of Alpine pastoral life. It 
is occupied by a large village of cottages, placed at consi- 
derable and irregular distances over the broad ascending 
glade. These cottages generally have no gardens near them, 
and you observe no paths. They rise directly out of the 
green sward. At first, you see but one or two; but letting 

15* 



174 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

the eye wander on, it detects cottage after cottage, until at 
length, a large village is made out. 

Here I dismissed the carriage, took an alpenstock — a 
six-feet pole shod with an iron point, — and attended by 
the guide, began the ascent of the Wengern Alp. The 
glittering glacier of the Bright-horn at the upper end of 
the valley overhangs you throughout a third part of the 
ascent. When you are half-way up, and wind round the 
mountain so as to get directly above the ravine from which 
you have ascended, the noise of the torrents of the Lauter- 
brunnen, inaudible when you were below, comes to you in 
a mingled roar, like a deep chorus of waters. Here a man 
was blowing upon a long, crooked Alpine horn, and the 
mountainous response was most singular and beautiful. 
When the tune on the horn was ended, the Alps made, not 
an echo, but a reproduction of it, in an improved and 
heightened character. They took it up, and chanted the 
air again with infinite sweetness, and a dancing grace that 
was delightful. They seemed to constitute a natural in- 
strument of music, to which the horn was but the awaken- 
ing breath, and which transmitted the original impulse, 
varied into the richest melody. When this repeated tune 
was done, there came a soft, long gush of sound, as if the 
vocal mountains breathed, after the protracted air they had 
executed. Further up, and almost at the top of the Wen- 
gern, were herds of kine, and sheep, with their keepers. 
The bleating and lowing of the cattle, the tinkling of their 
bells, and the piping of the boys, amid the stillness of all 
but natural sounds, formed a fine specimen of the pic- 
turesque in sound. 

Soon you come into the immediate presence of the high 
Alps, and they continue before you, the rest of the way. 
The walk along the inner side of the Alp, with these grand 
piles directly opposite, is one of unrivalable magnificence. 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 175 

You are separated from them by a single valley or chasm, 
of no great width, though of fearful and dizzying pro- 
fundity. The air in that valley beneath, was as blue and 
deep as the heaven which it seemed to mirror in its almost 
opaque medium. Some time before arriving at the actual 
summit or ridge I stopped, and sat down for above an 
hour directly in front of the Jungfrau. It is the nearest 
view that you can obtain of the most interesting, and august, 
and splendid peak in Switzerland ; for Mont Blanc, while 
it exceeds it in apparent mass, and in actual height, in 
every quality of effect must yield to it. The day was per- 
fect; of the brightest clearness, but with a few white clouds 
rolling and whirling, and dashing about with swiftness be- 
fore the westerly wind, to diversify the scene; sometimes 
enveloping the summits and hiding them from view; then 
drawing off and letting them flash out in unshrouded efful- 
gence. The contrast between the pearly white of the 
foaming clouds, the metallic radiance of the icy mountains, 
and the profound blue of the sky, was indescribably fine. 
Immediately before and above me, was the broad dazzling 
summit of Jungfrau; a little nearer, the Silverhorn; which 
is a projection upon its breast, in shape like a bent wave, 
or half-curled leaf of pure snow, as lustrous as silver. On 
either side of them were a throng of Alps. The avalanches 
were falling at brief intervals. The sight is nothing, but 
the sound is magical. You see, perhaps, a few fragments 
of ice slide over the surface of the mountain; and after it 
has all fallen, you begin to hear a plunging sound, echoing 
along like softened tones of thunder. It is as deep as 
thunder, but not so sharp and harsh. The vision from the 
summit of the Fauldhorn, in vastness and brilliance, and 
diversity, suffers nothing to be brought into comparison 
with it; but for moral impression the Jungfrau, as seen 
from the Wengern Alp, stands alone in its transcendent 



176 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

majesty. It is the apparent nearness, yet sense of un tra- 
versable remoteness, of that august form, that shines so 
distinct, and still so distant, that belongs to earth, and yet 
is visited and companioned by the clouds. You seem to 
be in the inner court of the mundane heaven of Alpine 
glory ; to have approached within the veil of the recess of 
that sublimity which sends its light over the land for hun- 
dreds of miles. In the beauty of that scene, grandeur is 
exalted into holiness. 

Upon the crest of the mountain, there is a chalet, and 
here the valley of Grindenwald opens; and you begin to 
descend. The prospect is impressive, but stern and savage. 
Poor Lord Byron's blasted forest of pines, in which he 
found so sad a likeness to his own domestic desolation, 
stands there to this hour, exactly as he has described it in 
his Journal and in Manfred. On your right, the great Alps 
form a precipitous wall, bristling with terrors. Directly 
over your head Eagher pierces the clouds like a vast dagger 
of rock, sheathed in snow. Then comes the smaller Eagher, 
and further on, the Wetterhorn. Beyond the valley of 
Grindenwald, afar, the great Shriedeck and the Schwarz- 
wald rear their heads. Here a fellow was stationed with 
a small cannon, which I gave him three batz to let off. 
There was an almost indefinite prolongation of the roar. It 
seemed to be telegraphed along the side of the mountains, 
softened and made richer as it advanced, — till it had tra- 
versed the whole line of Alps; and then, when nearly ex- 
tinct, shot across the valley, and spent itself like a rocket 
that has burst into a shower of light. The valley of Grin- 
denwald is extremely beautiful. It may be called the seat 
of an Alpine summer city; the chalets being very numer- 
ous, and sprinkled about among the green turf. Here are 
two glaciers; the lower one formed between the Eagher and 
Mittenberg, and the upper between the Mittenberg and 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 177 

Wetterhorn. The Black Liitschine flows from them. The 
smaller one has an arched aperture at its base, from which 
a stream issues. The under side of it is a deep green. 

It was half past five when I reached Grrindenwald, having 
been six hours and a half on foot. I arrived without any 
fatigue, but excessively heated by the run down the moun- 
tain. As the sun went down, the snowy peak of the 
Eagher was bathed in a deep rosy or purple light, long 
after the valley had grown dark. 



Chapter II. 



The following morning "being entirely clear, I determined 
to ascend the Fauldhorn; and took the upper and greater 
glacier by the way. The mass which forms the top of the 
glacier, and lies among the highest Alps, looks like ordi- 
nary snow freshly fallen. The middle part has an efflores- 
cent appearance, and the lower portions have a crystalline, 
or half organic, character, and are split into sharp clefts or 
peaks, divided by crevices of a deep green. In advance of 
the ice, lay an enormous cube-shaped rock of flint, which 
a glacier had brought down fifteen years ago. Its side was 
ground, and worn in furrows. The bottom of the glacier, 
which rests upon the earth, is constantly melting, so that 
the icy mass is hollow within. There is a side-opening 
into the vault, which Ave entered. A smaller rib of ice 
within, supports you, and enables you to advance some 
distance, and see the water gushing from the inner regions 
of the glacier. . The ice, when you are under or in the 
glacier, is semi-transparent, and of a bluish green. Near 
the entrance, it looks purple. 

From this point, I struck across the ravine, and began 



178 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

the ascent of the Fauldhorn; not taking the ordinary road, 
which would have obliged us to go back to Grindenwald, 
but traversing the fields and going up the steep si$e of the 
mountain. In fact, it was an almost perpendicular climb; 
but the rich fine sod afforded a more agreeable footing than 
the road, and we saved in length what we lost in ease of 
ascent. The lower part of the mountain is covered with a 
delightful mossy turf, entirely like that of an English 
park; which, excepting in these Alpine valleys, I have 
seen in no part of the world. The higher glades were one 
glowing sheet of flowers, — crimson and blue. Among 
them were familiar pinks, blue-bells, and a species of for- 
get-me-not. 

The flora changes twice, almost entirely, as you ascend : 
so that there are three several zones, all richly but differ- 
ently flowered. It was not far from the top that my atten- 
tion was caught by a small star-shaped flower, of a deep 
metallic blue shading upon green, that flashed through the 
grass with a moist, lustrous softness, like the sensitive eye 
of a maiden. I soon recognized it as the smaller gentian; 
dear to the poet's heart and verse. There are three 
varieties of the gentian, commonly met with in the Ober- 
land. 

About the base, while you are yet in the valley of 
Grindenwald, the grand objects of view, are the Eagher, 
the Mittenberg, with the Walcherhorn's great wall of ice 
behind the interval, and the Wetterhorn, with the Schrieck- 
horn behind the interval between it and the Mitteriberg. 
They seem to be directly over your head. Between the 
three foremost, were two stupendous basins of snow, from 
which the glaciers descend. As you 'mount higher, the 
splendid peak of the Finster-Aarhorn rises into sight. 
Then, the Spenglehorn is seen peering up across the lower 
range of the Ea her : then, the Silver-Horn. By degrees, 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 179 

Jungfrau, Monch and the Blumlis Alp, come into line; 
and the whole array of the Bernese Alps is before you. 

The day was magnificent. Not a cloud was visible; and, 
directly before me, these snowy summits blazed in the 
glory of the noon-tide. As I crossed the several vales that 
diversify the mountain, different views presented themselves ; 
sometimes of one part of the chain, sometimes of another, 
sometimes of all together. Though brilliantly clear, a rich 
atmosphere of purplish blue invested the rocky sides of the 
mountains, while the tops gleamed in celestial brightness. 
Very high up, we came upon a deep-blue lake, formed 
from melted snow and rain. We fell in the common road 
about half-way up; but, leaving it again, struck to the 
right, and clomb up the steep eastern side of the moun- 
tain; part of the course being along an almost vertical 
wall of loose rock; traversing also a huge hollow filled 
with hard snow, and seeing several others like it. I gained 
the summit about three o' clock, fully half an hour before 
parties who had set out from Grindenwald on horse-back, 
that same space of time before us. 

For extent and variety, and for the greatness of the ob- 
jects that compose it, I must think that the view from the 
top of the Fauldhorn, is unequaled in Europe. It is like 
looking down upon all the kingdoms of the earth, and the 
glory thereof. The height is more than 8000 feet above 
the sea : and the loftiest points in Berne are only between 
thirteen and fourteen hundred.* The situation is exactly 
in the centre, between the range of high Alps on the south 
and east, and the lower mountains that lie between them 
and the Jura on the north and west: and the whole multi- 
tude of peaks of and within those great chains on two 
sides, and between the seas of Zurich and Geneva at the 

* MS. thousand ; an apparent error. 



180 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

other ends, are around and beneath you. For a clear and 
commanding view of the high Alps, nothing can exceed it. 
When you see the summits of this great chain, from a low 
point, you imagine them to be so many different moun- 
tains ; but from this position, you see that it is one great 
broad wall of snow-covered rock, rising occasionally into 
pinnacles, which might seem to be watch-towers along the 
stupendous barrier that nature has set between the North 
and South of Europe. 

Beginning at the south-eastern corner of the panorama, 
and looking across the Shriedeck, the Schwartzhorn and 
the Bach Alp, whose dark masses shoot up near the base 
of the Fauldhorn, you see a cluster of sharp peaks, sup- 
porting a vast plateau of pure deep snow. These are the 
Engelhorn family and Willhorn, sustaining the glaciers of 
Rosenlaui and Schwartzwald. Following the great chain 
in a southwesterly direction, we have the Wetterhorn with 
its double peak; and next to it, the half-reclined and 
shelving mass of the Schrieckhorn, or Peak of Terror. 
These are filled with snow, and between them lies the 
upper glacier of Grindenwald, propped up in front by Met- 
tenberg. Then flashes aloft the soaring and glittering 
spear of the Finster-Aarhorn, the highest -and one of the 
most magnificent of the chain, being four hundred feet 
above the Jungfrau. This peak, with the Walcherhorn, 
the Viescherhorn and the Eagher, form a stupendous amphi- 
theatrical elevation of snow, holding within them these 
vast masses which contribute to the lower glacier of Grin- 
denwald. The round mass of the Monch follows, and 
beyond it, immortal Jungfrau. The actual apex of this 
splendid rock is a short point, but the general mass of the 
peak resembles a broad, thin, rounded blade. On its 
breast rise three snowy prominences; the farthest and 
highest of which is distinguished as the Silverhorn. Lord 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 181 

Byron calls it the Dent d' Argent. Perhaps he mistook the 
guide's name of Corne d' Argent. In shape, however, it is 
quite like an eye-tooth. It looks like a solid form of pure 
ice, and glitters with enchanting splendor. Further on, 
are Brei thorn, a grand hatchet-shaped ridge, and Groshorn. 
Near them, a little out of line, is Schengelhorn. Then, 
as the first of a new ridge parallel to the first, the Blumlis 
Alp, a series of wedge-like peaks. These gorgeous summits 
and the whole line from which they rise, are covered with 
snow. Viewed in conjunction, they resemble enormous 
waves of some mighty ocean of old time, which had been 
driven up by the tempests of chaos into the highest crests, 
and just as they were about to break, were frozen into 
ever during fixedness. 

Looking towards the west, you see an innumerable 
throng of Alps, not snow crowned, though magnificent ; 
the mountains of the Simen Thai and the Saanen Thai, 
and the mountains of Friburg ; and nearer, the pyramidal 
mass of the Niesen, and the rough summit of Stokhorn, 
both of them just beyond Lake Thun. All along the 
north, and forming the nearer barrier of the scene, — for 
the eye could reach far beyond them, — runs the long line 
of the Jura; and in the same direction, close at hand, were 
the rocky ridges of Harder and Brienzergrat. To the east, 
the ragged crest of Pilatus loomed grandly up ; the Righi 
was plainly seen ; and the mountains of the Canton of Uri 
stood banded together like an army with spears. Lake 
Lucerne was clearly visible, almost in its entireness ; Zug 
more dimly. Lake Brienze lay at the foot of the Fauld- 
horn, divided by one of its ridges into two parts ; and 
further on, was Lake Thun, both of a deep dark blue. 

Such were the material and earthly elements of this un- 
rivaled scene. Viewed in picturesque combination, with 
the indescribable advantages of atmospheric relief, and 
16 



182 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

aided by the contributing glories of a luminous and sensi- 
tive sky, the entire effect was beyond all power of describ- 
ing. Three hours before sunset, there were scarcely any 
clouds about the higher and nearer parts of the prospect ; 
but the air of the valleys to the N north, and east, and west 
had become of a bluish green color, and partially opake, so 
as to look like very translucent water. As you gazed to- 
ward the north-west, whither the sun was travelling, the 
vast expanse beneath your feet had the appearance of an 
ocean, in which mountains were floating. On the edge of 
the horizon, above a stratum of blue air, some cumulous 
white clouds were lying, and the mirage-like impression 
of the air brought the mountains into such resemblance 
and unison with these unsubstantial, distant shapes, that 
the gazer would have declared that peaks still more stupen- 
dous than Jungfrau and Eagher were disclosed to sight 
upon the north, the west and the north-east. The splendor 
of this whole spectacle — where the sun was streaming all 
the magic of his deluding beams to cast upon the land an 
enchantment greater than its own — was such as to over- 
whelm the soul with admiration and astonishment. Earth 
seemed no longer to be earth ; and the spectator felt as if 
the multitudinous unrevealed magnificences of heaven itself 
were poured forth around him in a flood. 

As the sun declined, a mass of white fleecy clouds, rising 
from the earth, gathered over the valleys of Brienze, In- 
terlaken, Thun and others that lay more remote, the Lake 
of Thun, itself, meanwhile, blazing like a sheet of gold. 
The atmospheric changes, at this time, were rapid and 
wonderful. An extremely thin fragment of pearly cloud 
which had got behind our position, suddenly flashed into 
pure prismatic colors. Gradually, the thickening clouds 
formed into a solid silvery vault over all the valleys, com- 
pletely opake ; through which the heads and ridges of the 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 183 

mountains, such as Neisen, and Stokhorn, and Harder and 
Pilatus pierced in dark masses. This floor of clouds was 
above two thousand feet below us. We were eight thou- 
sand one hundred and forty feet above the sea ; Stokhorn 
and Pilatus are about six thousand five hundred feet above 
the same level, or one thousand six hundred feet beneath 
our station ; and the clouds were from five hundred to one 
thousand feet below their tops. Overhead, the hues of 
the cloudless sky now became transcendently bright. 
Directly above us, the tone was a deep, purple blue ; half- 
way towards the sun, of a very light turquoise blue. Then 
came a stratum of the most vivid grass green, and beyond 
it, along the horizon, the richest lake color. As the sun 
neared his goal, and was looked at across the pavement of 
clouds beneath, it seemed like a car of fire driven over a 
causeway of beaten silver. The glowing effulgence grew 
each moment more intense till the orb touched the horizon; 
and a darker shade mingled itself into every color, as he 
gradually sunk below it. 

All this changeful history belongs to the region that 
lay between the Fauldhorn and the setting sun, and is con- 
fined to the lower mountains. Upon the mighty line of 
the high Alps, which soared aloft, behind us, there 
passed no variation. Amid all the airy revolutions 
that were taking place in the world below, they stood 
in their own clear, unaltered grandeur, in every particular 
almost, just as they had seemed at noonday. Their life 
v was apart from that of the crowd of peaks that started out 
of the valleys, and a different destiny belonged to them. 
Not a cloud approached even their feet. The only matter 
to be observed was, that the air of their ravines which had 
been bluish at mid-day, now purpled with a warmer splen- 
dour ; and when the sun to us had disappeared, the sum- 
mits of Jungfrau and Eagher were tinged for a moment with 
a rich carmine glow. When he was entirely set, the still 



184 NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

deepening rose color with which the sky behind them was 
tinged, threw their white masses into a stronger relief. Per- 
haps, the most striking circumstance in all the wonderful 
display, and one that added a graver tone of sublimity to 
the matchless brilliance of the scene, was the very slight 
effect which so considerable an occurrence, as the setting 
of the sun, had upon these great objects, while the inferior 
realm had been in a tumult of agitation. It seemed as if 
they had an atmosphere, an illumination of their own, so 
positive and settled, that the changes of light between 
mid-day and evening made no impression upon them. 

I never expect again to behold a spectacle so grand as 
that sunset above the clouds, in the midst of the highest 
Alps. 



Chapter III. 



On the following morning I was on the spot at a quarter 
before five o'clock, to see the sun rise. The morning star 
yet glittered like a diamond over the peak of Finster-Aar- 
horn, and the crescent moon was lingering above the snowy 
piles. The sky was cloudless ; and the principal thing to 
be noted was the roseate blush with which the High Alps 
responded to his first rays, before any other peaks had be- 
come conscious of his coming. Schrieckhorn first caught 
the messenger ray of the morning; but, in an instant after, 
Jungfrau was aglow, and the radiance streamed along the 
whole of the lofty range. The actual rising of the sun is 
not visible from the top of Fauldhorn, at least at that par- 
ticular season. It is hidden by the Scheideck and Schwartz- 
horn, which intervene, and we saw the sun only as it came 
over their shoulders. 

At nine o'clock I began to descend 5 taking leave with 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 185 

profound regret of these snow-capped summits, with which 
for nearly two days I had been in intimate companionship. 
There is something inexpressibly interesting in such society. 
In their age, and in their duration without change, — in 
the complete inability of human power to act upon them 
in any way whatever, — they carry with them such sugges- 
tions of sublimity, and they are in themselves, of such 
peculiar and surpassing beauty, that one conceives almost 
a passionate affection for their exalted presence. 

My path lay along the side of the Fauldhorn and across 
the Greater Scheideck towards Myringen. When we were 
opposite the Wellborn, and with the glacier of Schwartz- 
back before us, the majestic solitude of the scene was in- 
terrupted by an eagle of the largest size, who came wheel- 
ing round the Finster-Aarhorn, and turned the Schrieckhorn 
and soared up the valley ; then returned and gyrated about 
the head of the Bach Alp for a long time, disclosing occa- 
sionally the white plumage on the back of his wings. He 
seemed to be drinking the morning sun-light. Further 
along the valley, we arrived at the lofty needle rock called 
Engelhorn ; resembling a succession of fountains shot into 
the sky, and congealed into rocks ere they fell. Between 
them and Wellhorn is the glacier of Rosenlaui. In going 
up to it, for it lies a little out of the route, the path crosses 
a torrent which lies above two hundred feet below, between 
rocks about five feet apart. Here also are a couple of pic- 
turesque waterfalls. The glacier is not so broad as those 
of Grindenwald, but deeper or higher. There are three 
apertures by which it may be entered. The outside is of 
granulated snow, but the inner surface is pure solid crystal 
of ice. 

Pursuing the valley, I soon reached the Falls of Reich- 
enback ; the upper one of which is one of the most singular 

16* 



186 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

and graceful I have seen. I passed the night at the 
Reichenback inn, near Myringen. 

On the following morning I set out for the glacier of 
the Rhone, through the valley of the Aar, and across the 
Grrimsel and Furca pass. This day's march brought to 
view some of the wildest and sternest scenery that I have 
met with in Switzerland. As you leave Myringen and 
come up the lower part of the ravine, which is called the 
valley of Hasli, the view at once becomes grand. On your 
right, the Cataract of Riechenback roars down the lofty 
side of the mountain. On the right front, the huge pyra- 
midal masses of Plattenburg rear themselves. Further 
along, upon the left, is the snowy Hasliberg ; and between 
them, like a watch-tower at the head of the way, the lofty 
white peaks of Susterhorn cleave the sky. In a short time 
you enter upon the valley of Imhof or the Upper Hasli, a 
circular basin of land, said to have been once the bed of a 
lake, now the seat of picturesque cottages and fruitful 
fields. As you stand in this silent and solemn valley, the 
prospect is magnificent. Like a wall on one hand the 
rocky side of Engelberg rises almost vertically. Two other 
mountains stand at the valley's mouth like vast and lofty 
turrets. Numerous snowy peaks shoot up through the in- 
tervals between the nearer piles. At a distance, athwart 
the valley of the Grimsel, lies the high broad crest of 
Nagales-Gratli, as rough and jagged along the summit, as 
the edge of a wave which the storm raiseth and blows 
into fragments. It holds within its arms a mass of snow. 

Striking again into a narrow gorge, the road goes over 
the heel of the Plattenberg, and the scenery becomes sub- 
lime. Aar, foaming itself as white as snow, roars far 
beneath. The valley is bounded by a succession of moun- 
tain peaks, down whose sides rivulets flow or cataracts 
tumble, and between which piles of snow are lying. The 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 187 

rapidity with which the successive scenes of varied gran- 
deur open upon the traveller, fills him with wonder. Some- 
times we were in a thick, dark forest of young pines ; 
sometimes on a broad smiling glade; one while piles of 
rocks were scattered around us, and at another time we 
were threading a deep, close defile. Presently we came to 
the base of the wide Nagales-Gratli, famed in the memo- 
rable campaign of 1799, when the genius of Massena stayed 
for years the destiny of Europe, by repelling that formidable 
power which afterwards intervened with conclusive weight. 
When the Austrians were in possession of the Grimsel, 
the French came up the valley to this point from Myringen; 
a part of their force then ascended to the higher ridges of 
this mountain, and went along it to Grimsel, while the 
rest advanced through the ravine. The discomfiture of the 
Austrians was complete. Crossing the Aar, I reached a 
finely shaded glade containing a fountain, beside which I 
sat down and gazed with astonishment upon the savage 
cliffs, which, on the opposite side, rise almost to the 
clouds. 

In perfection and magnificence of visible beauty, the 
external and front views of the Great Alps, such as I had 
enjoyed on the three previous days, are unrivaled; but 
for the mental impression of crowded power, and awe 
amounting almost to horror, this prospect within the midst 
of these appalling masses of wild and fearful desolation is 
supreme. Like some monster of fable, splendor may illu- 
minate the front, but terror freezes at the heart of these 
solitudes. Upon this region, the vivifying and ordering 
syllables of creation seem never to have passed ; a realm 
of chaos reserved to the primeval empire of the Formless 
and the Void ; where there is brilliance without warmth, 
summer without foliage, and days but no duties. Through 
every opening the front of Death seems to start up under 



188 NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

the aspect of livid rock, mantled in glassy ice. The sun 
rolls his purple tides of life through the air that surrounds 
these summits, but his beams wake no seed-time and ripen 
no harvest. The moon and the stars rise and move and 
decline along the horizon, century after century ; but the 
sweet vicissitudes of seasons and of time move not the 
sympathies of these pale, stern peaks, over which broods 
one eternal winter to the senses, one visionary night of 
gloom to the soul. 

Advancing further along the valley, upon the right, the 
Aarland mountains become visible in a vast hollow cir- 
cuit ; like half of a huge crater, whose sides and summits 
are filled with crevices between which the snow rests, and 
descends almost to the valley. Soon, through another 
opening in the nearer rocks, one of the Aarland glaciers is 
seen. The lower part has melted away, leaving nothing 
but a field of small black stones lying against the moun- 
tain. But at the top, immense piles of snow are propped 
up, from which a small stream flows down through the 
rubbish of rocks. A number of small, uprooted pines, 
which an avalanche had torn out, were lying about. 

The cataract of the Aar now begins, consisting of long, 
tumbling, foaming rapids, forming an occasional shoot of 
ten or twelve feet, over which rainbows played, some of 
them extremely bright. The ravine, for a considerable 
distance, forms a valley of rainbows. Presently appears 
the Falls of Handek. Just over the ledge from which the 
water springs, a rock lies athwart the stream that passes 
under it, so that, as you look from below, it appears as if 
an immense fountain there welled forth from the centre of 
the vertical cliff. Mounting to the top, you see one of 
the most wild and singular falls in Switzerland. Upon 
one side the Aar, descending in a copious yellowish mass, 
precipitates itself into the deep, narrow gorge of rock, that 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 189 

opens out to the depth of 200 feet. At the same time, 
from an adjoining ledge, the Erlanbach, which flows down 
from an immense field of snow on the top of a mountain 
at the side of the valley, flings itself over in a flood of sil- 
very drops ; and the torrents mingle half-way down, while 
the spray rushes forth with irrepressible fury. Above the 
mists that contended in this dungeon of furious waters, an 
iris was formed; not bow-shaped, and having none of the 
serenity of the Arch of Hope, but whirling and flickering 
in a blaze of blue, green, and orange ; sometimes forming 
a solid pillar of lurid fire, and anon breaking and flashing, 
as the spray rose and fell. It seemed like a flame from 
hell-mouth bursting forth from the deep crevice, and 
checked but not extinguished by the two streams poured 
in to quench it. 

Above the Handek, the scenery becomes even more 
savage than before, and not less picturesque. Numerous 
waterfalls stream down the rocky walls that bound the val- 
ley. One of the most beautiful is the Gemlerbach, which 
descends in snowy brilliance from a small lake, beyond the 
ledge of the lofty precipice, in the rear of which rise the 
splintered peaks of the G-emlerhorn. The Aar presents 
several fine cascades. A grand view occurs where the 
Giesbach flows into the valley over the surface of a round 
mountain, and there mingling with the Aar, the two tor- 
rents sweep over an immense globed mass of rock that 
rears itself athwart the path. 

After some time, we arrived at the circular valley of the 
Raeterisboden, much washed by the stream, but giving 
shelter to one cottage. The French halted and formed 
here before attacking the Grimsel up the valley of the Aar. 
They utterly destroyed the enemy, who fled through the 
mountain passes. Arms and fragments of clothes are yet 
found at times among the rocks. The guide told me that 



190 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 






a drum had been picked up the year before. Masses of 
snow were lying within a foot of the path. At one point, 
the Aar flows under a snow-bridge, fifty feet below the 
traveller. 

At length, the valley of the Aar-glacier opens on the 
sight, guarded by three lofty peaks that stand sentinel 
about the cradle of the torrent. One of these is the Fin- 
ster-Aarhorn ; another takes its name from Agassiz, who 
ascended it. Leaving now the rugged channel which the 
Aar has opened for itself amidst these frightful piles of 
granite, the road winds round to the left, and we reached 
the Hospice of Grimsell, a stone house of good appearance, 
looking towards the valley of the Aar-glacier, and nestled 
in the hollow of the rocky mountains that on three sides 
rise around it. Behind it is a deep blue lake, which emp- 
ties itself into the Aar. As I was determined to see the 
glacier of the Rhone, before I closed my eyes that night, 
we continued our march without stopping, and ascended 
the rocky ridge that towers behind the Hospice. The 
summit of the Pass is 6600 feet above the sea, and is one 
of the dreariest and saddest solitudes I have ever traversed. 
We crossed some large beds of snow, which lie in the cup- 
shaped crest of the ridge. The surface was so much in- 
clined as to make it difficult to keep one's footing. At 
the bottom of the declivity, lay the dim Lake of the Dead. 
A few masses of rock, in a line, constitute the boundary 
between Berne and Vallais. We followed the road called 
Meyenwald. A light cumulous cloud, which had been 
gradually rising from the lower parts of the scene, now 
completely enveloped us. The effect was chilly and damp, 
and at one time drops of rain fell. It was impossible to 
see the guide, though he was but a few feet in advance of 
me. The vapor, however, presently blew off, and gaining 
the opposite side of the ridge, which descends precipitately, 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 191 

I beheld, at the distance of 1200 feet below me, the mag- 
nificent white mass of the glacier of the Rhone, a wonder- 
ful and beautiful spectacle. It is an enormous mass of 
snow, gracefully shaped like the sole of a pointed slipper ; 
the heel part much higher than the front, the central por- 
tion breaking down towards the point by an inclination of 
half a right angle, and the fore part lined with innumerable 
cuts or clefts of a greenish hue. Behind the pile lay the 
ice-encumbered peaks of G-allenstock. The glacier far 
exceeds in beauty the Mer-de-glace ; and for grandeur and 
interest, the glaciers of the valley between Grindenwald 
and Myringen make no comparison with it. 

I seated myself on the lofty edge of the Meyenwald, and 
watched the play of the clouds in the immense chasm be- 
neath us, as they rolled about in changeful glory. A light 
mass would come down from the valley of the Rhone- 
glacier, which would be met by another coming up ; a third 
from the cleft which we had been crossing, would join 
battle athwart the others ; and the rapid tumultuous flying 
hither and yon of these misty squadrons of the air was ex- 
tremely curious. The whole scene of war was a little below 
our feet ; and as the vapors were driven one way or the 
other, or opened and divided on the fortunes of the battle, 
the superb silvery ridges of the Plauenberg, filled with 
glittering snow, flashed up ; and the mists overhead clearing 
away, the rich blue sky, filled with lofty, orange-colored 
clouds, smiled down upon us. The hues, the movements, 
the character of the skiey scenery were wholly different 
from what I have ever seen from lower points. By a steep 
winding-path, we descended to the inn near the end of the 
glacier. It is a humble tenement, inhabited only in sum- 
mer, for the approaches to it are hopelessly blockaded with 
snow for seven months in the year. I arrived a little 
before seven o'clock, having left Myringen at nine, and 



192 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

been above nine hours on foot. My dinner was served by 
one of the handsomest women that I have seen in Switzer- 
land. Her dignified, mild features, set off by the peculiar 
gilded turban of the Vallais, which resembles a coronet, 
might have graced the proudest court in Europe. They 
did more. They diffused a charm through the rudest hut 
in Christendom. As I was retiring for the night, I opened 
the casement of my chamber, and found that the wall was 
washed by a milky rivulet, in which it was difficult to see 
a promise of the broad, mighty stream that sweeps past the 
towers of Lyons and Avignon. I fell asleep, with the 
murmurs of the infant Rhone in my ears, and visions of 
crowned Madonnas in my fancy. 



Chapter IV. 



On the following morning, at half an hour after eight, 
I set out for the Hospice of San Grothard, across the Furca 
Pass. Going along the left bank of the glacier, we enjoyed 
an excellent view of its formidable mass. It is not cre- 
vassed with wide splits, like those of Grindenwald, but its 
clean surface is marked by a great number of small cracks 
and lines. The upper, or central parts, where the snow 
seems to have rolled over in avalanches, is tumbled into 
conical piles. The view across its whiteness to the clear 
blue sky beyond, was beautiful. We had scarcely left it, 
when we came in sight of the Beren-gletscher, another 
large glacier on our right, propped up between two moun- 
tains, and not split or rifted, but lined on the top by innu- 
merable cuts, like ice upon which a crowd of skaters have 
been traversing. Ascending to the summit of the Furca, 
a rude cross, near to a large stone, marks the boundary 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 193 

between the Cantons of Vallais and Uri. From that posi- 
tion, a great view of the cluster of High Alps expanded 
behind us. Towering in the centre of the group, and 
highest of them all, was Finster-Aarhorn. On the right 
of it, Viescher-Aarhorn held on high a vast snow-filled cup 
of rock. Other sharper peaks of rock and ice glittered on 
either side. I had scarcely begun to exult in the splendors 
of the prospect, when a cloud enveloped us, and everything 
became invisible. This pass is about 8300 feet above the 
sea. Through a gloom of mist, we pursued our way across 
several beds of snow, from all of which streams were run- 
ning. In these mountains, in fact, almost every little 
hollow or valley holds a bed of snow or ice, which melts 
variably at the bottom, not the surface. It may be taken 
for certain, that all the streams that descend from these 
elevations, come either from a glacier, or from a lake formed 
of snow. 

By a quick descent, we now came into the valley of the 
Sidli Alp, at the bottom of which the Reuss roars along. 
This ravine affords an agreeable relief to the rock-wearied 
eye, as it is covered with mossy turf to the top. It opens 
into the valley of Urseren, the mountain ridges of which 
display not only grass, but low, creeping pine trees not 
uncommon in these regions. Upon one side, numerous 
rivulets flow down into the Reuss. Here stands the Ca- 
puchin Hospice of Realp, where is now also the Hotel of 
the Alps. A walk of four miles brought us to the Hos- 
pice at St. Gothard. On an eminence, in advance of the 
refuge, is a watch-tower, with a round window in it, to 
enable the inmates to look up the valley in winter, and 
descry forlorn travellers who may be lost in its wastes. 
Several fine snowy peaks stand in front of Hospenthal, 
separating it from the Grisons. 

I got in about one o'clock, and after dining, took a car- 
17 



194 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

riage to Altdorf. For five days I had been traversing 
regions where no carriage road existed, and I had made 
the whole expedition on foot. The guide, I believe, was 
as much delighted as his employer, to add the charm of 
repose to the fine enjoyment of the unrivaled scenery. A 
drive of a few miles brought us to a spot where the subli- 
mity of nature is met and mastered by the higher sublimity 
of the mind of man. A huge rock, coming athwart the 
valley, juts over the very edge of the torrent. The road 
pierces it by a tunnel, winds back along a gallery on its 
outer surface, and, by a couple of arches, not unfitly named 
the Devil's Bridge, spans the Reuss, just below its terrific 
cascade, and within the full sweep of its foaming spray. 
The streams leap down with three or four infuriated 
plunges, like a troop of white Arabian coursers springing 
down frantically into the chasm. A cloud was driving 
swiftly and irregularly up the valley, rendering a savage 
scene more wildly turbulent. The true Devil's Bridge is 
an older one, of a single arch, very narrow and without 
parapets, which still remains a little below the one which 
is now made use of. 

The road that leads the traveller with ease and safety 
along this formidable defile is a magnificent structure, 
equally admirable for the arrangement of its route and for 
the perfection of its masonry. In some parts, it returns 
in a course directly parallel to its previous direction ; and 
the descent is so judiciously distributed, that one is not 
conscious of any considerable deviation from a level path. 
Numerous stone bridges carry the road from side to side; 
some of them are very lofty, and all of them add to the 
picturesque effect. The upper part of the valley is stern 
and gloomy; lower down, it contains dells of Arcadian 
loveliness, — rough and irregular enough in surface, but 
covered with bright, short grass as delicate as the vesture 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 195 

of an English lawn, and the stream is bordered with soft 
and beautiful shrubbery. But the torrent, itself, forms 
the pre-eminent charm. It is one ceaseless cataract, from 
Andermatt to Ansteg, falling, altogether, above 2000 feet. 
Every movement that is grand or beautiful in the course 
of rushing waters it seems to be the mission of this stream 
to illustrate. The wild, the pensive, the elegant — the 
fierce and the fantastic — the exquisite and the odd — may 
here be studied as in a museum of the picturesque. The 
afternoon was mild and clear. I drove very slowly along, 
watching the endless varieties of beauty till the imagina- 
tion grew sated with excess of enjoyment. Several cata- 
racts cling, like draperies, to the sides of the precipitous 
mountains, enriching a scene whose attractions needed not 
such added decoration. One of these, the Fellabach, was 
enchantingly beautiful : a slender stream, falling by several 
cascades ) where it was in motion, as white and delicate as 
the newest lace, but of a purple blue where it lay in pools. 
It comes, doubtless, from a mountain lake. The Reuss 
itself is quite blue or green. It issues from the lake of 
Lucendro. The Maderannerbach, a considerable brook 
that flows into it, at Amsteg, is of a milky hue. 

It is easy to determine by the color of an Alpine stream, 
whether it flows directly from a glacier or snow bed, or 
comes from or through a lake. The water that comes 
from masses of melting snow or ice is of a chalky hue, 
owing probably to the quantity of triturated rock that be- 
comes mingled with it. When water, formed in that way, 
rests for a time in a pool, the discoloring particles that 
were in solution with it are precipitated, and the stream 
issues forth of transparent clearness, but with a pale green 
or violet-blue tone. If a glacier rivulet overflows and 
forms a pool at the side of its channel, the rivulet will be 
white and the pool blue. It is certain that some of these 



196 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

lakes and lake-born rivers appear to be green and others 
blue; but this difference I suspect not to be fixed and lo- 
cal, but resulting either from differences of depth, or from 
the condition of light on the atmosphere. It appeared to 
me that wherever a lake is found with a very high moun- 
tain or mountains rising from its edge, the hue seems to 
be a purple blue. This may be owing to the greater depth 
of the water where mountains rise at its side, or it may be 
that the shadow of adjacent heights, or the exclusion of 
part of the mass of light that would otherwise fall upon 
the lake, makes the same water look purple, which sur- 
rounded by low banks would appear of a bright green. 
It was in descending the Danube, the waters of which 
are usually grey, that I was first struck with the blue 
color it assumed where a mountain rose beside the shore. 
The blue or purple effect is perhaps increased by looking 
down upon such bodies of water, from an elevation. One 
would ascribe the blue color to depth alone, if there were 
not many shallow tarns in the Alps which are blue. The 
Rhine takes its rise from a glacier, and is of a lime color till 
it enters Lake Constance. The waters of that lake, which is 
not skirted by mountains, are green, and the Rhine issues 
from it below Constance perfectly transparent, but as green 
as beryl. The Rhone enters the lake of Geneva of a 
chalky color, and leaves it of a clear violet; and the devia- 
tion from green, I imagine, may be ascribed to the lofty 
heights that rise upon the south. It appeared to me that 
the upper end of the lake of Geneva, where the mountains 
rise nearer to the water, and to a greater elevation, was of 
a deeper blue than in the immediate neighborhood of 
Geneva. Zug, which the Righi overshadows, ordinarily 
appears of a purpler blue than any other lake, and yet in 
certain aspects it seems green ; Lucerne is also one of the 
bluest lakes. In short, the natural color of the clear and 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND, 197 

settled water in these regions is one that appears blue or 
green according to the depth, or to the state of the light. 

In approaching Altdorf we crossed the stream of Shack- 
en, in which, according to tradition, Tell was drowned in 
attempting to rescue a child that had been swept away by 
a freshet. We visited a small and curious chapel some 
distance from the road, which is said to be built upon the 
spot where TelPs house stood, very near the church. Its 
walls are covered with pictures representing the events of 
his life ; his refusal to salute the cap of G-essler, the shoot- 
ing of the apple on the head of his son, his leaping from 
the boat, the death of G-essler, &c. The chapel is stated 
to have been built in 1522; but the pictures, by their 
style, are certainly two centuries later, Some miles further 
back, the remains of Gessler's chateau on the summit of a 
mountain were pointed out; and below, on the opposite 
side, is an old stone tower, said to have been the prison 
used by him. It is called Zwing-Uri, or Uri-jail. 

Altdorf is interesting on account of its association with 
the life of Tell. In a street of this village are two foun- 
tains. The pillar in the centre of one of them is sur- 
mounted by a figure of Tell, holding his boy under one 
arm, and pressing his bow to his bosom with the other. 
According to the popular belief, it marks the spot where 
Tell stood when he launched the fearful arrow. The other 
fountain is placed where Gessler's tree stood, and where 
the child was also stationed. It seems a long shot from 
one to the other; and the tradition, as to the precise lo- 
calities of these incidents, if the history be genuine, at all, 
may well be distrusted. Near the second fountain, stands 
an ancient square tower, on the outside of which are 
painted the scenes of Tell's history. 



17* 



198 NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 



Chapter V. 

The next day, I came from Altdorf to Fluelen, and 
there embarked in a steamer for Lucerne, upon the lake 
of the Four Cantons. It is scarcely possible to imagine 
any combinations of beautiful water and bold mountains, 
more striking, more effective, and more lovely than the 
scenes that meet the view in traversing this charming sea. 
A dozen different mountains, advance into the lake and 
check themselves suddenly in the depths of the glowing 
waters. Bare, steep, turret-like rocks hanging amid the 
clouds, — rich, lawn-like grass in the intervening glades, 
sparkling with cottages and gardens; and luxuriant copses 
of delicate shrubbery clustering down to the water, suc- 
ceed and blend with each other in infinite and delightful 
alternation. As we approached Lucerne?, Pilatus scowled 
upon the left, and the sunny bays of Alpnacht and Kuss- 
nacht stretched away upon the other side of the main 
water. This part of the lake, for beauty, variety, and 
charming brightness, is not less remarkable than the other 
end is for stern and towering sublimity. The deep green- 
blue water adds a brilliance to every prospect. 

Several memorials of the romantic hero of Swiss inde- 
pendence are presented to view along the banks. Not far 
from Fluelen, you pass upon the right the Tellen Platte, 
or Tell's chapel, — land where Tell leaped ashore. It is a 
small structure with two arcades open in front, and painted 
with pictures of his exploits. Over it, far on high, the 
rock-mountain swells out like a round castle of old feudal 
days. On the opposite side, is G-rutli or Rutli, a green 
platform where the three confederates, Werner of Schwytz, 
Arnold of Unterwalden, and Walter Furst of Uri, met in 
the beginning of the fourteenth century, and laid the 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 199 

foundations of Swiss independence. On the same side, 
nearer to Lucerne, is the projecting steep promontory of 
"Wytenstein, along which grows to the water's edge a rich, 
bright shrubbery of birch and walnut. Against this pro- 
minence, stands a curious stone resembling a coffin placed 
vertically on its head. It was here that Tell saved the life 
of Baumgarten. 

The town of Lucerne has little that is interesting, ex- 
cept the Dying Lion of Thorwaldsen, which forms the 
monument to the Swiss guard who were massacred at 
Versailles in defence of Louis XVI. It is cut in a huge 
rock, which is surrounded by a pool of water, and inclosed 
in a garden. The attitude and expression of the expiring 
beast realize all that one could require of dignity and 
grandeur in the parting life of the monarch of the desert. 
Near by is a small chapel consecrated to the memory of 
these brave Helvetians, with a pompous but eloquent in- 
scription in Latin. 

After a few hours, I continued my journey to Arth, for 
the purpose of ascending the Righi. A little beyond 
Kussnacht, the road cuts through a hill and is closely 
shaded by small birch trees. Near the end of this sombre 
defile, is pointed out the spot, at the road side, where Tell 
stood when he aimed the fatal shaft at Gressler, who was 
journeying towards Kussnacht. On the bank, a chapel 
dedicated to the glory of this event which is pictured upon 
the exterior, sanctifies crime in the religion of patriotism. 

In the presence of so many memorials of the deeds of 
the hero of the Free Confederacy, it is difficult to feel 
any sympathy with the doubts which bookish students 
have suggested as to the reality of Tell's existence. In 
addition to the monuments which I have mentioned, the 
exterior of many old houses in Altdorf, Arth, and Schaff- 
hausen, are painted with representations of facts in his 



200 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 



history, and with figures of the Men of Grutli. These 
paintings may be a century old. In Schaffhausen is a 
fountain having an old wooden or stone figure of Tell with 
his bow and arrow; on the base of which is the date 1682. 
As records of the events thus exhibited, these things are 
of no value. But as evidences of an antecedent and general 
popular conviction and feeling they are entitled to have 
some weight. Their existence in four or five different 
cantons, now separated by disagreements in religion, and 
alienated from one another by political jealousies, seems to 
carry back the date of these feelings to a period when all 
were animated by a common interest and enthusiasm. 

From Arth, I ascended the Righi, and reached the sum- 
mit about a quarter before six o'clock. The view from 
this mountain differs from the Fauldhorn as a gazetteer 
differs from a poem. Yet here, the map-like beauty of the 
level landscape, with forests, meadows and ploughed fields 
intermingled; with houses and villages scattered profusely 
around; and with lakes, rivers and mountains diversifying 
the scene, possesses a peculiar and characteristic charm. 
The sun, hidden from our sight by a horizontal bar of 
cloud, was shedding down broad pencils of rose-colored 
and golden rays upon the glittering scene of prosperity 
and happiness. On the other side, the High Alps had 
their tops covered with clouds, but lay in a mystic, dim 
sublimity that was highly impressive. 

At sun-rise, on the following morning, the Culm was 
enveloped in mist; but about seven o'clock, the scene be- 
came glorious. On the north-east, the peaks of Grlarnish, 
Sentis, the Mitre of Schwytz and the sullen mass of Rosen- 
berg, were mixed with fragments of white clouds; and the 
sun pouring a silvery flood over the whole, kindled it 
into flashing lustre. It lay before us in a tumultuous 
prodigality of splendor, from which the fancy summoned 






NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 201 

up a vision of Homeric gods sitting together on high, and 
viewing all the grandeurs of creation beneath them. 

In descending, the aspect of the valley of Arth, from 
the platform of the mountain about half way down, is of 
singular beauty. In the centre the town of Arth stands upon 
the shores of Zug, whose purple waters mirror the snowy 
walls. Behind Arth, are fields traversed by lines of trees; 
then comes the village of G-oldau; and behind it are the 
brown, horrid masses of Rosenberg, over-lying the yet 
buried town of old Goldau, which it overwhelmed with all 
its inhabitants in its fall. Further along, glitters the little 
lake of Lauertz, and the prospect is bounded by the obelisk- 
like peaks of the Mitres. 

Quaint and picturesque in manners as in aspect, is the 
ancient Catholic town of Zug. It reminds one of some of 
the old Flemish cities, such as Bruges. Among its towns 
and walls, as in the spirits of its inhabitants, time seems 
to have slumbered for three centuries. Human character 
appears to consist of two opposite varieties; one, that makes 
a fetiche of the past, and shrinks from change as from a 
rude immorality; the other, that dashes forward impa- 
tiently after progression and development. In most States 
and cities, these temperaments are brought together in the 
diversity of persons ; and the reforming and conserving in- 
fluences work out in harmony the course of society. But 
occasionally we come upon communities where nothing but 
conservatives are generated; and then there is an absolute 
stand still in all things, whether mental, or moral, or ma- 
terial. These form political anachronisms. They remind 
us of vessels that have grounded upon mountains in a 
former state of the water, and which, when the tide has 
gone down, stands high and dry above the current. Such 
places are Nuremberg, Zug, and many towns in Italy. As 
an example of old-time tastes yet lingering about Zug, I 



202 NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

found in its neighborhood the only considerable specimens 
of the antiquated Topiarian art, that I met with in Europe ; 
consisting of trees cut into the forms of arm-chairs, birds, 
and other objects. 

At Zurich, I visited the town-library, and read three Latin 
letters of Lady Jane Grey to Zuinglius. They are signed 
" Iwanna Graia," and are written in a neat, clear, legible 
hand. They are interesting as expressing a warm gratitude to 
Zwingli for his friendship. She quotes Hebrew and Greek 
in their own letter. I saw, also, an Aldine folio of the 
Septuagint, which was the family Bible of Zwingli. He 
had recorded at the end the births of his several children. 

I pursued my journey to Schaffhausen, and at Eglisau, 
crossed the Khine, which is there a full and rapid stream, 
not very broad. It is intensely green, and without any 
touch of blue. We soon reached the Hotel "Weber, which 
is opposite to the Falls of the Rhine. 

These falls are among the most beautiful of great catar- 
acts; with just so much of terror as beauty has, or ought 
to have, for one who knows how fatal or fat£d a thing it is 
wont to be. They are also the most picturesque of Eu- 
ropean cascades. They are entirely Rhine-like, in their 
character, presenting that combination of copious water, 
grey rock, and graceful foliage, which makes the peculiar 
charm of this river in its lower course. They are divided 
into three parts, by one tall rock near the right bank, and 
by two other rocks which lean towards one another, and 
form almost an arch in the middle of the stream. These 
foam-fretted islands are covered with bushes which now 
were glowing with the tints of autumn. I took a boat 
with three men, and rowed out to the principal and central 
one. The water which we traversed was whirling and 
surging with eddies of white and green. The cascade 
seems to be formed by a pile of irregular points or peaks of 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 203 

granite, rising up in the midst of the impetuous current. 
Looking up from the base of the rock where I landed, 
the waters above, on both sides, appear to be shot forward 
horizontally as from a mortar. A winding path leads to 
the top; about half-way up, you pass near the central 
shoot, and there its waters starting up and over the hidden 
obstructions that would arrest it, seem to gnash as with 
a kind of ravenous fury. From the summit, the best view 
is had, for there you see the whole composition of the 
cataract. A little above the fall, the stream appears di- 
vided and diffused in innumerable directions, — sideways, 
backwards, forwards, crosswise; then, gathering its forces, 
it springs through the openings of the pillared rock, with 
headlong rage and terror. 

I descended and rowed across to the Schloss, and gained 
a balcony where a favorite view is had : but it is not equal 
to that which I had left. You see but a part of the river, 
and even that is much lost in spray, which in itself, how- 
ever, has a good effect, being from time to time, hurled 
upward as if from the depths of the river. There is an- 
other position below the falls, where a grand confused 
image of turbulent power is flung upon the mind. That 
is the museum of rainbows. From that position, the cen- 
tral island shows finely. Leaning forward against the 
coming torrent, the rocks seem like mighty buttresses, 
based upon the centre of the earth, and upholding the 
rivers which else might plunge down with all-overwhelm- 
ing madness. 

At Schaffhausen I took the steamer up the Rhine to 
Constance, and thence to Lindau. Six weeks later, about 
the middle of October, I came down from Ulm to Fried- 
richschafen, at the upper end of Lake Constance, and crossed 
to Rorshael with the intention of going into Italy by the 
Splugen road. In the beginning of that month, the win- 



204 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

ter had set in at Berlin with continued cold rain, and I 
fled precipitately southward ; but I had no sooner reached 
the shores of this lovely water, than I found myself in a 
wholly different climate, where a mild fine autumn yet 
lingered, and a soft west wind invited to delay. The sea- 
sons in Switzerland are later than in Germany. The sum- 
mer comes up more slowly ; but it tarries longer. I re- 
solved to profit of the charming weather, and dash across 
to Geneva, that I might take one more view of the snowy 
crests which had delighted me so highly. The lake Con- 
stance presents an aspect of calm, attractive beauty. On 
the south, the shore rises gradually and is richly cultivated, 
to a considerable distance ; and then terminates in the glo- 
rious mountains of Appenzell and Glarus. The great 
range of heights which form the eastern wall of this sea, 
appear to be a solid pile of snow rising out of the purple 
waters. 

At S chaff hausen, I at once became aware of being on 
Swiss ground, by seeing on the large house in front of the 
steamer's landing-place, fresco pictures of the three men 
of Grutli ; one holding a short-handled flag with a cross 
upon it ; the central one leaning on a spear ; and the third 
sustaining a tall standard which rested on the ground ; all 
wearing swords. About noon I set off for Zurich. The 
day was clear and delightful : and upon arriving at the top 
of a hill, about a mile from S chaff hausen, the whole circle 
of the Alps, from lake Constance to the hills about Berne, 
blazed up into full, glittering view, covered with recent 
snow ; and Sentis and Doedi and the triple broad mass of 
the Bighi and the spiked banner of Glarnish. This after- 
noon afforded one of the finest feasts of the Alps that I 
have yet enjoyed. The peaks of Glarus and Appenzell, 
form, ordinarily, to the Swiss traveller, a side dish, not 
much attended to j but arc capable of being made pieces de 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 205 

resistance of a luxurious banquet. At Berne, the weather 
on the 16th of October was magnificent, and the sun as 
bright as in July. The Oberland was lying out in the 
clearest, sharpest outline, flashing and exhaling in the 
cloudless sun. We reached Lausanne on the following 
morning. 

Gibbon is, of course, the special lie of the place. We 
were received at the Hotel Gibbon, a stately structure on 
a terrace over-looking the lake. The historian's house is 
next to it. It is now occupied by M. Constantine Grigner, 
a legal functionary, whose mother bought it upon Gibbon's 
death. It is a commodious dwelling with an extensive 
terrace garden, commanding a fine view of the mountains 
of Savoy. Mont Blanc, however, is not visible. In this 
respect the English philosopher showed less taste than 
Voltaire, from whose house and grounds at Ferney, the 
monarch of mountains is seen to great advantage. In the 
garden an elm was pointed out, said to have been planted 
by Gibbon, and under which he is said frequently to have 
rested. I doubt the tradition ; as the tree does not appear 
to be above thirty years old. The acacias have been en- 
tirely destroyed. A new apartment, which the owner is 
now erecting, occupies the place of the Berceau, and also 
of a curious room made of the bark of trees, which Gibbon 
himself had constructed, and which was suffered to remain 
until it became utterly decayed and ruinous. 

The next day I went up from Geneva to Chamouny. 
The weather was perfectly clear, and the sky cloudless. 
In the evening, a full moon was shining over Mont Blanc. 
The following morning we ascended the Flegere. In 
going up, the stillness was broken by several avalanches, 
which sent a long crackling roar through the valley, re- 
sembling the discharge of cannon at a distance. One of 
these which we were lucky enough to see, was caused by 
18 



206 NOTES Or A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

the fall of a mass of ice from the Mer de Grlace over the 
rocks which rise up and occupy half the space of the mouth 
of the glacier. The white mass crumbled as it struck the 
rock, and poured down like a cataract of powdered ice, 
reverberating prodigiously as it descended. From a low 
point of view, the attendants and supporters of Mont Blanc 
occupy the most prominent position, and almost hide the 
sovereign; and it is necessary to rise to a considerable 
height, in order to see the true relation of the chief to the 
inferiors, and to contemplate the principal eminence in its 
towering and unshared grandeur. The view from the 
Croix de la Flegere commands the entire valley and all its 
confines j and the whole prospect taken together, presents 
probably as sublime and impressive a spectacle as nature 
can exhibit. It is a scene of almost fearful wildness and 
desolation. A horror seems to brood over the abyss 
which divides the enormous precipices that yawn around 
it. Mountains, whose soil yields no growth but of 
deadly snows, and valleys, where unfathomable glaciers 
usurp the place of corn and vines, succeed one another in 
a barrenness to which the little vegetation that struggles 
into life serves only to add greater gloom. The bases of 
the rock., piles are occupied by clumps of fir trees that 
stand crowded together like an army of dark-plumed sol- 
diers sternly guarding the access to the appalling regions 

above. 

But from whatever position Mont Blanc be seen, its 
height I think is less striking than that of the Bernese 
peaks. The latter rise more precipitously, and soar up- 
ward in a more lonely and detached elevation. The Mont 
Blanc is so much surrounded by huge companions and 
allies, which intercept and share his grandeur, that all the 
effect of his majesty is not directly felt. Monarch un- 
doubtedly he is; but a constitutional monarch girt about 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 207 

by greatnesses that diminish his individual lustre in giving 
a broader base to his throne. The mass of the mountain 
is certainly enormous ; and when one reflects upon certain 
particulars which show to the mind how great is the ele- 
vation, the height becomes profoundly impressive. For 
example, the Aiguille Verte seems, from the Flegere, to 
be but very little higher than the Aiguille du Dru ; yet in 
fact, it stretches nearly two thousand feet above it. I am 
inclined to think that the remote view of Mont Blanc from 
Geneva, where it seems td lie on high like the silver floor 
of heaven, is more striking than any other. 



Chapter VI. 



At length I turned my steps towards Italy. It was 
towards the close of a fine mellow autumnal day that I 
came up from Geneva to the Hotel Byron, which stands 
between Chillon and Villeneuve. A storm of two or three 
days, which had imprisoned me in the Hotel des Bergues, 
had cleared away, and mild, still, pensive weather had suc- 
ceeded. For richness combined with grandeur, for volup- 
tuous softness around, and impressive majesty above, not 
Como, nor Lucerne, nor any other lake, is superior to the 
upper end of Geneva. Some beams of Italian lustre seem, 
there, to have gushed through the mountain pass, and to 
kindle the rock-cinctured atmosphere with the love-breath- 
ing hues of the glowing south. The view from the lofty 
terrace in front of the hotel was grand and touching. The 
stream of summer tourists had passed by. I was the only 
inmate of the large and melancholy pile. The air was 
delicate; the lake calm and somewhat hazy; all nature 
seemed in unison with the tranquil loveliness of the scene 



208 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

and its associations. Behind, rose the lofty heights of the 
Dent de Jam an and Dent de Noye, not stern with frightful 
rocks, but luxuriantly wooded to the summits, and now 
glorious with the varied colors of autumn ; the foliage pow- 
dered with newly fallen snow. To the right along the 
lake, Clarens lay deliciously nestled in a gentle ravine of 
the mountains which rise to a great height behind it. On 
either side of it, by the shores, are recumbent fields of neat, 
trim vines ; but itself was embraced by russet-tinted trees 
which extended up the ravine till they expand into a great 
forest that scales the top of the mountain. Nothing can 
seem more modestly retired, without being hid. Further 
on is Montreux, more deeply buried in a valley. A little 
more distant, across a small bay, stood the grey towers of 
Chillon, in the water. On the left front, the mountain 
views were magnificent. The Dent d'Oche rose in a lofty 
peak almost immediately from the waters edge, and beside 
it were innumerable wild, fragmentary, capricious crests. 
The sides of all these were now covered with a scarlet 
mantle of foliage. On the extreme left, up the valley of 
the Rhone, the vast snow and ice-covered piles of the Dent 
du Midi reared themselves. As the sun sank behind the 
Dent d'Oche, and threw into bright relief these dark forms 
with their fretted outline against the yellow sky, and 
tinged the snows of the Dent du Midi with a faint rose 
color, a passion-flush of beauty seemed to suffuse the scene. 
The waters of the lake in front of me were still and soft, 
and as clear as crystal. The shores at the opposite end 
were not seen, being hidden by the mistiness of the air; 
and you might have thought that you were looking out 
upon the limitless ocean charmed into repose by the magic 
influences of the hour. A single small sail whitened the 
blue expanse. A short distance out from the shore, and 
towards Chillon, stood a little island, scarcely twenty feet 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 209 

in width, bearing what seemed but a single tree, but was 
in fact a cluster of three trees, gleaming with a yellow hue 
through the languid air. Associations of Byron and his 
lone prisoner threw around it a pathetic lustre. 

The next morning I walked along the grey pebbly shore 
to the Castle of Chillon. Around its walls the sublime 
story of Bonnivart casts an interest, before which the sen- 
timental fancy of Byron's tale fades into insignificance. I 
know of nothing in history so extraordinary as the gran- 
deur of his endurance, except its reward. Chained for six 
years to the dungeon pillar of a tyrant, he was set free at 
last by a double revolution, political and religious, which 
created a republic in the night of despotism, and established 
Protestantism in the midst of the Romish church. Could 
such a daring anticipation have entered into the strength 
that fortified his heart ? Let hope never grow extinct in 
the spirit of man ! If Bonnivart might be delivered, who 
may not trust to be relieved ? 

The castle stands upon a solid rock, and completely out 
in the lake, though not now actually surrounded by it, an 
embankment of stone excluding the water from encircling 
it upon the land side. A bridge of four or five piers leads 
over the now dry foss to the double gates, whose iron 
gratings still hang there, brown with the rust of centuries. 
In the middle ages the Hall of Public Justice, and its im- 
portant appendage, the rooms and instruments of probation 
and punishment, which according to the morality and rea- 
son of those times consisted largely in tortures, were com- 
monly in the same building with the residence of the 
sovereign. Some of these establishments have been kept 
up for the curiosity of visitors, and are often referred to 
for the purpose of sharpening the passions of the day 
against the cruelty of the despots who ruled in those times. 
They illustrate, however, the mental views of the age, 

18* 



210 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

rather than the mischiefs of a particular government ; for 
they were part of the public law of all countries ; and the 
most revolting display of the system is to be seen in the 
dungeons of the free city of Ratisbonne, where the inquisi- 
tors were not solitary tyrants, but a municipal council of 
sober and liberal burghers. Chillon Castle now serves as 
one of the three military magazines of the Canton Vaud ; 
but the apartments in which the feudal severities of the 
times were administered^ are maintained with scrupulous 
completeness by the republican authorities. 

Passing through the court yard, I was conducted to 
the prison rooms, which are below its level. The first 
chamber is about eighty feet long, and divided by a row of 
arches on columns. It formed the hall of the corps-de-garde. 
The floor, which is covered with gravel, is high enough to 
allow the lake to be seen through the windows. Beyond 
it is an apartment twelve or fifteen feet wide, on the inner 
side of which is a mass of the natural rock rising four or 
five feet high, and forming by its top a smooth inclined 
shelf which follows the dip of the stone, perhaps thirty 
degrees from the horizontal. According to the explanation 
given on the spot, this was the couch upon which prisoners 
were laid after being tortured in the chamber above, and 
here the sentence of death was read to them. In the next 
room, which is quite dark, a couple of arches, supported 
on a pillar, run transversely across the room, and between 
the pillar and the upper cross-wall is the potence or gal- 
lows, a mere beam of wood ten or twelve feet high, with 
grooves around it, which are said to have been worn by 
the .ropes. Two thousand Jews are reported to have been 
hanged or strangled here, upon a charge of poisoning the 
fountains, but really for the purpose of confiscating their 
wealth. Opposite the gallows, hung formerly a picture of 
the Virgin, on which the dying man might look ; a solace 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 211 

that must have been particularly welcome to the Jews. 
Next is a little apartment enclosing the stone stairs which 
ascend to the Hall of Justice ; and beyond it, through a 
small door you enter the principal prison. 

It is an apartment about a hundred and twenty feet in 
length, and divided by a row of round sandstone columns, 
and double ranges of pointed arches. It bends somewhat 
towards the other end to accommodate the circular corner 
of the castle, and the whole effect, which architecturally is 
very beautiful, exactly resembles the aisles of a church, for 
which indeed, it is said at one time to have been used. It 
is cut out of, or into, the solid rock, which is of a slaty 
texture, and much inclined. The windows are high, and 
though they exhibit large wide openings upon the inner 
surface of the wall, they narrow towards the exterior, so as 
to dwindle down to apertures a foot in length by three or four 
inches in width. It is impossible to see anything through 
them from the floor of the dungeon ) but when the sun is 
bright at midday, the light is reflected from the lake upon 
the roof, and is said to show a blue tint ; and at certain 
seasons the horizontal sun finds its way in. When the 
water of the lake is high, as it was in 1846, the prison is 
below its surface ; ordinarily, however, it is not so. 

In one of the central columns is the ring to which Bon- 
nivart was fastened by a chain about four feet in length. 
The holes worn in the rocky floor by his stern solitary 
pacings are still perfectly distinct. 

Let none those marks efface ! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God ! 

A channel, three or four inches below the general surface 
marks the range of tread ; but within it, you see three still 
deeper cavities produced by the daily tramp of his feet. 
The length of his chain permitted him to take only three 



212 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

steps, but to the limits of this fettered license, he seems to 
have taken daily and vehement exercise, determined to 
keep himself alive for whatever issues Providence might 
provide. The whole prison apartment is now an open 
space ; but when Bonnivart was here, walls ran between 
the columns, forming a series of perfectly close cells. 
These trampings, therefore, must have been made as he 
strode from wall to wall, riveted to the corner of a dark 
dungeon, by a chain four feet long. 

The person who showed the Castle told me, that while 
Byron was meditating his Prisoner of Chillon, he used to 
come to the scene every day with his servant. He finally 
wrote the poem in two days, in a room of the Anchor inn 
at Ouchy ; but it appears that he had been mentally com- 
posing it for some time, and by the aid of diligent study 
on the spot. At that time he was not acquainted with the 
story of Bonnivart. He learned it afterwards when he 
went to Geneva. My conductor said that Byron's igno- 
rance might be accounted for by the fact, that the persons 
who, at that time showed the Castle, were not in the habit 
of explaining the apartment, and that the woman who then 
kept the keys did not herself know anything about Bonni- 
vart. Another reason, the guide thought, might lie in 
the fact mentioned last year by an English family who 
were here, that Lord Byron did not speak French, though 
he did speak Italian. 

Among a thousand sad histories that have perished from 
recollection, one tradition, scarcely less touching than the 
legend of Bonnivart, still attaches to this remarkable cham- 
ber. At the lower end of it, against the wall which crosses 
and limits the apartment, are some drawings four or five 
feet in length, which display great feeling as well as skill. 
They represent St. Christopher holding the infant Christ, 
and supporting himself by a tree; St. John with an inscrip- 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 213 

tion in Gothic letter over his head, u St. Johes." And the 
Saviour on the cross. These were thus drawn in total 
darkness by the young Coquet, a pupil of Bonnivart, who 
had attempted the deliverance of his teacher, but was de- 
tected and thrown into this cell, which at that time was 
walled up on the other two sides. He succeeded at length 
in breaking his fetters, and when his keeper came to bring 
him food he overpowered him, fastened him in the dun- 
geon, and escaped up stairs into the Hall of Justice. Here 
he threw himself from a window into the lake, but unhap- 
pily fell upon the rocks and was killed. 

Several interesting autographs in stone, testify to the 
deep feeling which this scene has inspired. On one of the 
sandstone pillars in the centre, the name of " Byron" ap- 
pears, carved by his own hand, somewhat crookedly. On 
the same column are "L. Hunt," "H. H. Milman, xlix./' 
"A. D. M./ J (Alexander Dumas,) and others. On the 
natural rock which forms the inner side of the chamber is 
the name of " Shelley," in large capitals, cut by himself. 

In the upper story of the building is shown the Hall 
of Justice, so called from the injustices judicially perform- 
ed there. It is a large room with ceilings paneled in the 
fifteenth century. Next it is the torture room. A wooden 
pillar stands in the centre of it, with a pulley at the top of 
it to allow the prisoners to be drawn up and then thrown 
violently down. While thus suspended, red hot irons or 
lighted torches were sometimes applied to their feet ; and 
the lower part of the pillar is charred in many places. 
From this dismal chamber, a grated window looks out over 
the blue, placid, lovely water. Near by is a small room 
where a furnace stood to heat the irons. Adjoining the 
Hall of Justice on the other side, is a spacious apartment, 
divided along the middle by wooden pillars. It formed 
the kitchen and dining hall of the Dukes of Savoy. 



214 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

Another small structure across the court-yard, but within 
the walls of the Castle, must not be forgotten. It con- 
tained the Oubliette. When a prisoner's fate was settled, 
he was told that he was about to be set free, and was con- 
ducted hither that he might approach a statue of the Vir- 
gin to give thanks, and then descend a staircase and pass 
out of the Castle. He descended three steps, when the 
staircase terminated, and he was thrown into a well fifty 
feet deep. These three steps, and the well beneath them, 
are still there. If it was the design that the victim should 
die a lingering death of starvation and broken bones, he 
was suffered to remain here. If a speedier end was intend- 
ed, a trap door in the bottom of this vault was opened, and 
he was flung down forty feet further. All this has cer- 
tainly a very apocryphal sound, and a reader of such mat- 
ters would be inclined to pronounce the whole story as an 
idle legend, recited for the entertainment of gaping tour- 
ists. It is certain, however, that quite similar accounts 
are given at the old castle near Baden-Baden, and else- 
where; and that the appearances of the apartments sustain 
the explanations which are given. My conductress at 
Chillon was a shrewd and rather witty woman, who either 
from native inclination or out of compliment to my coun- 
try, displayed a vigorous democracy. She would conclude 
every fresh exhibition of terrors by saying, " And all this 
was in the good old times V Being a show-woman and a 
radical, perhaps the duskiness of the scenes took a " browner 
horror" from her glosses. 






NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 215 



Chapter VII. 

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon of a fine day, 
at the close of October, that I left Villeneuve for Italy, by 
the Simplon road. As the season was late, and snow had 
already fallen in large quantities among the higher Alps, 
and it was somewhat doubtful whether the road on the 
summit was open, I got rid of the responsibility of clearing 
the pass by taking my place in the corner of the govern- 
ment corriera. I hardly know, even in that land of beauty, 
a finer scene than the valley of the Rhone up to St. Mau- 
rice. The broad, fertile plain, between the mountains, is 
covered with vegetation ; and, at its edges, at either side, 
rise precipitately the snow-crowned Alps. The road winds 
along their base. The ragged crest of the Dent de Midi 
towers in sight all the way. The declining sun was kindling 
the ice-topped peaks with a furnace-like lustre, not pink or 
roseate, but like shining silver. In approaching the line 
of the Vallais, the effect becomes almost startling. The 
mountain strikes into the stream and throws the road from 
its abrupt side : the rocks on either hand jut over the 
river, which has forced its passage by wearing away their 
bases : a bridge of a single arch carries you over the Rhone ; 
and you are within the cachot of St. Maurice. You feel 
as if you had been betrayed into the dungeon of the white- 
haired giant turnkey of the Alps, who had been nodding 
ominously above you for a long time, and who had now 
closed up the mountains across the path which you had 
entered. St. Maurice lies at the bottom of a well-like ra- 
vine, whose granite sides rise almost perpendicularly to a 
prodigious height. The material grandeur of the scene 
can hardly be exceeded. It must be dim and chill, there, 



216 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 






at noon-day; and night closes in long before the purple 
waters of the sunlight have ceased to dash against the peaks 
above. As I was falling asleep, I thought I saw an old 
hobgoblin face, with white locks matted over it, thrust up 
several times against the glasses of the carriage, to see if 
his prey was safe. But I shut my eyes, and was soon lost 
in dreams of Italy, almost as bright as the reality. 

When I looked out the next morning, we were nearly at 
the summit, and the cold was extreme. The sky was clear, 
but pale ; and an ocean of snowy peaks and snowy valleys 
spread around. All was snow. A few stinted pines, with 
their iced branches pinned down to their trunks, stood at 
wide intervals amid the waste; and here and there was a 
chalet, closed and deserted : but these memorials of de- 
parted life and habitation only struck a deeper loneliness 
into the scene. On one summit, a little chapel was visible; 
and a series of stations, marked by rude crosses, led to it: 
but it was now abandoned and inaccessible. Even the last 
social, guarding, redeeming influence seemed extinct in the 
glittering beauty of death. It was the sublimity of deso- 
lation. 

We had exchanged our wheels for a sledge, and were 
moving along behind seven horses. Two men, with shovels, 
accompanied our train, and we stopped, occasionally, till 
they cleared away the avalanches which had slid down 
from the heights above. We presently passed the Hospice, 
where the courier delivered a gazette. The news appeared 
to be the only human interest that survived in the dreari- 
ness of this solitude. We may smile ; but, after all, what 
is the love of gossip, but a rather undignified, perhaps 
slightly irregular manifestation of that spiritual affinity 
which identifies man with his fellows? that nil humani 
alienum, which is the sacred consciousness of humanity 
itself. Exiled into these arctic wastes, the inmates of the 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 217 

hospice still crave the exercise of those sympathies which 
link their natures to the crowded city and the scheming 
court. 

We began to descend, and, resuming wheels, rolled 
rapidly along through a magic panorama of slate-colored 
rocks, cleft into shaded ravines, whose walls seemed to 
reach to the firmament; with unnumbered cascades pitch- 
ing from the summits, or dripping along the sides; and 
ferns and flowers softening the ruggedness, like those 
snatches of tender sentiment which sometimes intervene 
in the ferocity of a ruthless character. The southern side 
of the Alps is steeper and more storm-worn than the north- 
ern, seeming to rise up directly over the plain, and scowl 
down in jealous fury upon a loveliness which it is destined 
always to look upon and never to partake. My imagination 
had been so steeped in mountain elements of all kinds, — 
water-falls, rocks, ravines, — that there was no longer that 
mental action upon them which is necessary to enjoyment; 
and I turned away with an indifference approaching to dis- 
gust from the barbarous north, whose last hospitalities I 
was fleeing, and threw my spirit forward into glowing 
thoughts of Italy. 

It was night when we reached Domo d'Ossola, at the 
foot of the mountains. Domo d'Ossola ! how purple with 
Italian richness was the very name ! The inn was in the 
form of a quadrangle, and I was shown to my chamber 
along an open gallery that ran round the interior court- 
yard, whence one looked up to the deep blue, starry sky. 
All was strange, and all enchanting. 

The following morning I drove along the margin of 
Lago Maggiore, passing Baveno and Arona. It was Sun- 
day. The air was mild and clear, and it seemed like the 
Paradisal Sabbath of a world yet unconscious of sin. It 
was not as when you view a single object, or listen to a 
19 



218 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

single symphony, from which you snatch keen pleasure : 
the whole encircling scene, — all that touched the sight, the 
sense, the mind, — above, around, beneath — all was beauty 
and all was delight. There was just enough of pearly 
haze over the sky to tone its blue tints into soft blending 
with the waters, and with the mountains on their north. 
At the upper end of the lake, gleamed the chalky villas 
around Locarno, and behind them was Monte Rosa, with 
its snowy masses, suffused and glowing with purple. The 
crystal lake, reflecting the quaint terraces of the Isola Bella, 
green with tropical verdure, was on the left; and on the 
right, the slopes were profusely covered with roses in full 
bloom, violets and daisies. A voluptuary in landscape en- 
joyments could not have craved a richer scene. The 
choicest glories of the north and south were brought har- 
moniously together. Switzerland and Italy set forth the 
rarest perfection of their characteristic splendors in rivalry 
for the admiration of the visitor. From the luxurious 
hues and forms around, you looked across the fairy lake, 
and, after gazing on the lovely mansions upon its edge, the 
eye lost itself amid the infinitely varied outline of white 
hills that seemed dissolving into the northern air. I de- 
clined to visit Isola Bella ; for a restless, fiery impatience 
possessed me to precipitate myself into the bosom of Italy. 
I felt, until I reached Milan, as if I were not unmistakably 
and irrevocably in Italy. 

We stopped a few moments to visit the odd colossal 
monument of San Carlo Borromeo, and then halted at 
Sesto Kalende. There is no difficulty in recognizing in 
that name a lingering trace of Rome. Here we encoun- 
tered, onc*e more, the imperial bird 

Qui per piu devorare 
Porta due becchi,* 

* The arms of Austria bear a double-headed eagle. — Ed. 



NOTES OP A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 219 

whom I have ever found an honest, well-bred, courteous 
bird. It would be well for the traveller if his great wings 
flapped away from the whole of Italy the tormenting native 
flock of becca-ficas that peck unremittingly at the pockets. 

From Sesto to Milan, the Simplon road passes through 
the cultivated plain of Loinbardy, planted at regular inter- 
vals with the mulberry, and with vines hanging in festoons 
from tree to tree. The sleepy luxuriousness of autumn 
loitered over the fields, and at a distance were the snowy 
mountains. Winter rarely comes nearer to those delicious 
plains than to look down at them from the neighboring 
heights. As we rolled on through village after village, 
the church-bells, with their sweet silvery clamor, kept up 
a perpetual jubilee of sound, exulting to proclaim the more 
essential beauty that Italy prized above all material boasts, 
that of being stainlessly catholic. The music, breaking 
out from time to time, then pausing, then beginning again, 
as if each campanile were animated by varying feelings, 
made a charming accompaniment to the bright spectacle 
around. The delight, which almost tranced the being, was 
not like a new or strange emotion. It was a familiar feel- 
ing of spiritual enjoyment, brought up to the surface, and 
made sensuous in an intense and delicate consciousness of 
the realization of a life-long dream. I was reposing in the 
sweet arms of the violet-crowned maiden of the family of 
nations : her soft, warm breath was upon my cheek : her 
large, blue, loving eyes looked down upon me. 

An era is it in the history of any man, when for the 
first time he crosses the Alps. A sympathy is touched 
and developed, that shall vibrate and expand forever. 
Upon that soil, we learn that Imagination and Sentiment 
are the Italian elements of our nature. All things seem 
ideal, poetic, visionary. Splendors that the northern world 
knows only by half-heavenly flashes that fade before they 






220 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

can be felt, here are natural and permanent. From the 
valleys and plains of Italy the lustre of Summer is never 
wholly withdrawn, and winter seems but a tardier spring. 
Elsewhere we have glimpses of her life in conservatories, 
and when we enter the guarded retreats where orange-trees 
and olives and myrtles are garnered up as creating around 
them a kind of sacred soul-life, we say, "This is like 
Italy ." Its atmosphere is fragrance, its soil is beauty, its 
canopy a glory unimaginable. Its air is a prism to turn, 
the common light into enchantment. What melodies of 
color, — violet, rose, purple, — roll along its steeps. Yet 
the true fascination of Italy is of the soul ; and the features 
of the scene enjoy our devotion on account of the Spirit 
that looks out from them, and which they typify. 

It is the clime of Art, — the temple of the sacrament of 
the material transfigured into the spiritual, — of the per- 
petual marriage of the formal with the divine. Life, 
thought, passion, manners, all things, partake an aesthetic 
quality. An ethereal stream of ideal sentiment seems to 
float over the land and refract all perceptions, feelings and 
objects into beautiful outlines and hues. 

It is the land of Antiquity, the school of History, the 
home of the Past. No time is recorded when Italy stood 
not foremost in the annals; a scene where great things 
were thought and wrought. Etruscan, Roman, Pontifi- 
cal, these civilizations have succeeded one another, and no 
later one has effaced the vestiges of that which preceded 
it. All now dwell together ; and the face of the land is 
as a self-registering chronicle of all that has been felt and 
done upon its surface. Here, under, the calm, grave eye 
of the Venerable Past, the Present moves modestly, and 
with self-distrust. Here you may stand in the religious 
presence of the Older Day, and imbibe a temper which is 
more than wisdom. The active, the striving, the destruc- 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 221 

tive, we leave behind when we cross the mountains. Ex- 
istence here is moral, consultative, intellectual. It seems 
like an Elysium, where life is fancied, and interests no- 
tional ; the blissful future state of an existence gone by, 
where shadowy forms rehearse in silent show the deeds that 
once resounded, or elsewhere resound. It is a land where 
all is ruin ; but where ruin itself is more splendid, more 
permanent, and more vital than the freshest perfections of 
other countries. 

Above all things, it is the soil of religion. Here, 
and only here, is realized, in uncrumbled and undimmed 
completeness, that vision, which in other nations is but a 
fragmentary dream, or a dim tradition, — the Catholic 
Faith. And deny it, overlook it, forget it, as we may, 
that is the deepest spell of all the enchantments that Italy 
holds in store for us. Of its truth or utility let theolo- 
gians and economists dispute : as a sentiment, as a civili- 
zation, humanity has evolved nothing so beautiful, so re- 
fining, so delightful. In this land, it is an inward, soul- 
heard music, to which all life regulates its movements. 
It is as a solvent of moral grace, melting and rounding all 
the forms of existence into picture-like and pleasing shapes. 



Chapter VIII. 



After a few days at Milan, I went up, in the beginning 
of November, to Como. The railway is well-appointed and 
comfortable. The first part of the route presented the 
fertile plain of Lombardy, planted with mulberries, locusts 
and chestnuts : soon the snow-covered hills appeared in 
sight, and on reaching Camerlata, we were among the 
mountains. The scenery around Como is highly pictu- 
resque ) the heights terminating in multitudinous peaks, 

19* 



222 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 

clothed with red foliage, and sprinkled on the tops with 
snow. 

As I think, that to dash forward in a crowded steamer, 
is no true way to enjoy these lakes, I took a small boat 
with a couple of oars-men, and set out early in the after- 
noon to woo the enchantments of the watery scene, at 
leisure, and alone. The wherry was luxuriously furnished 
with scarlet cushions, a table in the middle, and a circular 
frame overhead, on which was an awning of canvass to be 
raised and lowered at pleasure. The diversified hills which 
rise almost from the line of the shore, were covered with 
green and purple foliage ; and innumerable elegant villas 
lined the banks. Grandeur, softness, endless magnificence 
of architectural decorations, and an almost luscious rich- 
ness of color, united to form a refined and gorgeous specta- 
cle which it would be vain to look for out of Italy. The 
atmosphere in the low regions had the effect of clear, lus- 
trous crystal, and higher up was a warm, deep iodine tone, 
which made the breasts of the mountains ruddy with a 
morbid blush. Beneath glittered the glassy wave ; and a 
sky of cloudless, profound blue, was hanging above. 

On the left hand, as you come out from Como, is a 
palace with long Italian colonnades, overhanging the wa- 
ters. It is the villa Raimondi ; formerly, Odescalchi. A 
little further, through an opening in the nearer heights, 
you catch a view of the peaks of the distant Alps. Then 
is seen the small village Cernobio; and beyond it, in a 
nook embraced by a high promontory, is the villa d'Este, 
for nearly three years the residence of Queen Caroline, and 
the scene of the Bergamo adventures of non mi recordo 
fame. It is a very large establishment, consisting of a 
tall wide house with two capacious wings : and behind it 
is a conservatory which might mistake itself for a princely 
villa. This place was formerly occupied by General , 






NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 223 

one of Napoleon's officers, who took Tarragona by assault; 
and he constructed, at the foot of the hill which forms the 
further boundary of the estate, an imitation of that city, 
with several towers and fortifications running along the 
heights. Beyond, lies the villa Pizzo, the summer resi- 
dence of the Viceroy of Italy. In former years it was 
occupied by the arch-duke Regnier; but since the last 
revolution, he has resided at Bolsano. It consists of half- 
a-dozen detached buildings, with numerous terraces. Fur- 
ther on is Passalacqua. 

On the opposite side, within Torno, lies the large villa 
Tanzi, which was inhabited by Lord Sandwich while Queen 
Caroline lived at Cernobio. In rowing upon the lake, hft 
observed the proceedings at the Villa d'Este, and it was 
he who first made report of them in England. Below this 
are the villas of Pasta and Taglioni. As we passed be- 
tween Pizzo and Blevio, we encountered several small 
boats laded with lemon trees, the effect of which, upon the 
water, was extremely pretty. They were coming over 
from the villa Taglioni, to be wintered in the green-house 
of the villa d'Este,. the many-twinkling feet of their owner 
being just about to make a pirouette to her palace in 
Venice. Nearer to Blevio are two houses belonging to a 
Russian; one jof them on a promontory, the other in a 
complete cavern, hollowed out of the mountain. 

The view opposite to Blevio, as I returned to Como, 
glowed with a fine, delicious loveliness, to which the ruder 
greatness of Switzerland is a stranger. At my back, be- 
yond Tourno, were snow-covered hills. On the left, the 
mountains behind Blevio rose almost vertically ; but they 
were furrowed with innumerable ridges, into the greatest 
variety of surface, and covered with rich green grass to the 
top, and with trees, not matted together in close forests, 
but sprinkled just widely enough to allow their forms to 



224 NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 






be seen, and occasionally the mossy turf between them 
The feathered outline of these foliage hills fretted the blue 
heavens. A cove, formed by the projection of a promon- 
tory on which the villa Cornaggia stands, lay in deep 
shadow, while the declining sun threw a bright visible 
stream of rays along the front of the recess. The promon- 
tory was dark, with rich green olive and laurel ; numerous 
summer houses were scattered among the hills behind it ; 
and gardens glittered along its slopes with every attraction 
that art and nature could combine. Deep purple masses 
of light were resting on the bosoms of the other moun- 
tains. On the right, through the valley at the side of 
Cernobio, there appears a magnificent view of Monte 
Kosa with its many-peaked masses of rose-coloured snow ; 
and as we moved on, the double cones of the lesser St. 
Bernard loomed up. The immortal spirit, Beauty, who 
elsewhere gives but glimpses of her heavenly charms, here 
seemed to lean down from her eternal viewless dwelling, 
and unveil from out the violet air all the full magic of her 
rapturous countenance. As I gazed in intense and breath- 
less admiration, the silence was broken by the deep toll of 
a bell from one of the villages, which was soon responded 
to from another ; and anon arose a multitudinous but most 
musical clangor from every side, swelling and rolling, and 
re-echoing among the mountains. I turned to the stal- 
wart boatman to ask an explanation. Crossing himself 
reverently, he replied, "La Festa dei Tutti Morti !" The 
Fete of all the Dead I* It was one of those august and 
touching appointments by which the Catholic Church sum- 
mons the deepest sympathies of our nature to join her in 
her mediation between the visible present and the invisible 

* The Feast of all Souls, which follows that of All Saints. 
The English Church has retained the latter, but disused the 
other, more interesting and quite as harmless. 



NOTES OF A TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 225 

infinite. At three in the morning, and three in the after- 
noon, the churches are crowded with worshippers, and the 
bells ring out an awakening notice to all who rest at home 
or journey by land or by water, to unite in feeling with 
the human host that turns from the present and the actual, 
to send its memories backward over the past, and to waft 
its prayers of love upward to the skies. v I know not when 
I have been more profoundly moved. The scene, before, 
was beautiful, almost to religion; there wanted but one 
sound, one note, to touch into full adoration the feeling 
which already trembled on the verge of it. This call from 
the voice of the church, amid a spectacle of such earthly- 
glorious perfection, reminding of the sad, but not stern, 
sentiments that belong to the contemplation of the depart- 
ed, was fraught with a divine appropriateness and power. 
The festival of All the Dead! What living soul is not 
reached by that appeal! Into what affecting brother- 
hood are we not all brought and bound by that sublime 
conception ! 

Beautiful Como ! I may never again behold thee visibly : 
but, through coming years, when Thought draws inward 
from the vexing and degrading world, and seeks the 
purest, loftiest, loveliest image that Memory holds within 
her shrines, then, in spirit, I shall be with thee ! 



THE ROMAN FORUM, 

[AN IMPERFECT FRAGMENT.]* 



" Quae maxima semper 
Dicetur nobis, et erit quae maxima semper." 

Yirg. 

The traveller through the old world, who would do jus- 
1 tice to every part of his subject, should see the whole of 
Europe before he enters Italy, and the whole of Italy 
before he visits Rome. The morbid and ethereal elegance 
that invests the clime and life of Italy, relaxes the taste so 
much, that it can scarcely come in a proper spirit to the 
I less poignant interests of Germany, France or England. 
And everything that even Venice, Florence or Naples can 
offer, appears frivolous and almost profane, in presence of 
the august impression that Rome inspires. He whose 
spirit Rome has once touched with her sceptre is struck 
insensible to vulgar and earthly interests. 

Rome seems to be the magnetic pole of our moral sensi- 
. bilities. In all other places they tremble toward it, in it 
they become riveted to the soil. 

* This appears to be the last piece which ever came from 
\ the pen of its lamented author. In the progress of writing it 
I his eye sight became somewhat disturbed; and his health almost 
j immediately after gave way by rapid steps of declination. In 
' its disconnected handwriting, it bears the mark of having been 
j written with physical difficulty and pain, and breaks off^ ab- 
ruptly in the midst of its interesting subject. Of course it is 
a first draft and wholly uncorrected. 



228 THE ROMAN FORUM. 

Her galleries are stored with countless treasures, the 
master-pieces of Grecian sculpture ; yet so far are they from 
constituting the secret of Rome's attraction, that we view 
even the Apollo with an imperfect enthusiasm, seen 
amidst the blaze of that atmosphere of brightness which 
surrounds it. The landscape has peculiar and characteristic 
beauties; yet the chief interest with which we view it, 
arises from the reflection, that we are looking upon the 
country of Rome. Gorgeous in spectacle and enchaining 
in significance are the ceremonies of her church, whose 
development is the history of fourteen centuries of Europe. 
Yet their chief interest arises from the back ground against 
which they are viewed. It is not in any nor in all of these 
things that lies the secret of that spell, by which this city 
strikes and fascinates our spirits : the charm, the mystery, 
the power is in the moral atmosphere that infects the 
scene, where moralists and legislators once lived and acted. 
Splendid even now is the Rome of the eye and of the taste ; 
but that before which the visible city lapses into nothingness, 
is Rome of the mind. It is the thrilling memories which 
overhang it like an electric cloud, that makes this city a 
place of intense and undecaying interest, and in the pres- 
ence of which we turn our backs upon Pope, and Cardinals, 
and Princes, and regard the romance and adventure of the 
princely battlings of the middle ages, and the palaces of Co- 
lonna, Corsini, Borghese and Doria as vain and empty shows. 

And why is it that Rome thus awes us as we draw 
nigh it, and strikes a fascination into our spirits when we 
are within it ? affecting strongest minds the strongliest. It 
is because we approach the shrine of the morality of the 
world ; are within the precincts of that Temple whence 
oracles of Justice went forth that still are the inspiration 
and the guides of Life. Lawgiver of the nations; parent 
of Institutions that give civility and development to 



THE ROMAN FORUM. 229 

society; inven tress of the Arts that establish right through 
reason ; source of that social wisdom which is civil power ; 
the all-imperial city sits throned in the ever-during rever- 
ence of the mind ; girt with a divinity invisible perhaps by 
the frivolous, but irresistible to the thoughtful mind. 

I know not of any scene more fitted to touch every 
chord of intellectual emotion in a reflective spirit, than 
that which expands before the observer who mounts to a 
platform that is over the upper arches of the Coliseum, 
directly above the entrance, and looks down thence into the 
Roman Forum. That high terrace was a favorite resort 
with me on the clear and soft afternoons of a winter that 
was lovelier than the brightest spring or summer of the 
north. -The air below was usually like a medium of trans- 
parent crystal, faintly purpled here and there by violet- 
colored flakes of sun-light, that seemed to float in it - like 
stainless passion-dreams of the pure element. The pros- 
pect consists only in a short and narrow valley, bounded 
on both sides by hills, and terminated at the opposite end 
by a lofty and precipitous rock. Ruined arches, solitary 
columns, fragments of ivy-clustered walls, define the 
ground : 

Reliquias, veterumque vides monumenta virorum. 

Thrice a thousand years have rolled by since JEneas 
found Evander and Pallas celebrating on yonder hill 
those services of religion, for which Rome has always been 
noted, and through which she has always been great. 
The u passimque armenta videbant Romanoque foro" is 
strangely renewed in the name of the Campo Vaccino ; and 
the stately " Carinas/ ' once splendid with the mansions of 
Pompey and Cicero, is again a neglected region, doubtfully 
identified by the title of the Church of San Maria in Cari- 
nis. The aspect of the spot has returned to the condition 
20 



230 THE ROMAN FORUM. 

of the Arcadian's ancient reign; but what a world of his- 
tory lies between ! That small region before your eye is 
the scene of the entire history of Rome from Romulus to 
Constantine ; and there, in the councils of statesmen, the 
meditations of philosophers, and the enthusiasm of orators, 
the history of mankind not only then, but through all 
time to come, was ordained, and settled, and rehearsed. 
Fixed on that spot, as by a kind of spell, dwelt that men- 
tal force, which in becoming the genius of Rome became 
the fate of the rest of the world. 

The Palatine rises upon the left; the original city of 
Romulus, and scene of those Livian legends which Beauty 
will still preserve though Truth abandon them ; now cover- 
ed by the endless and inextricable ruins of the Palace of 
the Caesars. On that hill's edge, by the arch of Titus, 
stood the kingly house of Ancus Martius. The eminence 
on your right is the Esquiline ; memorable for the resi- 
dences of Maecenas, Horace and Virgil. Directly opposite to 
you soars aloft the Capitoline, and at its base you see the 
remnants of the Temple of Concord, built by Augustus on 
the site of that temple in which Cicero assembled the 
Senators, (at night ?) to reveal to them the conspiracy of 
Cataline; and Ibeside it, that old Mamertine prison con- 
structed by Ancus Martius and Servius Tullius, in which 
Cethegus perished, as Jugurtha had perished before him, 
and Sejanus perished afterwards. Between your position 
and the Capitoline, you may view the remnants of the 
Forum of Julius, ever memorable for that scene, when the 
Roman Senate was received by the Dictator seated; an in- 
dignity, which though it cost an emperor his life, became 
an epoch in the decline of Roman liberties ; the sites of 
the old and new rostra of the Senate House ; and may 
view the uncovered stones of the Via Sacra, once swept by 
conquerors in triumph. That hollow space, bounded and 



THE ROMAN FORUM. 231 

terminated between these three hills and the clivus of the 
Via Sacra, is the Roman Forum. 

Silent, deserted, crumbling is the scene ; trodden only 
by the steps of peasants, as they loiter from their toils, or 
of monks, as they pass across it to their evening chants. 
Yet with spiritual tenants how thronged, how glittering is 
the place ! To the intellect, how intense, how vital the 
influences of the spot ! On the rock that bounds your 
view, once stood the Refulgent Capitol; and in front of it, 
above the Tarpeian platform, still stands, in memory's 
vision, a figure yet more sublime than that of the citadel 
he defended, blazing with a glory to dim the brightest 
lustre that the morning sunshine ever cast about it. 

Custos Tarpaeia Manlius arcis 
Stabat pro templo, et capitolia celsa tenebat. 

There, beneath you, was the daily meeting-place of those 
who by circumstances were the Senate of Rome, but by 
nature the Patricians of Earth. From those councils went 
forth protection to oppressed right, punishment to lawless 
violence throughout the globe ; till Rome became the tri- 
bunal of states, the conscience of the world. 

As one ponders over this spot, that counsel-hall seems 
like an earthly Olympus, whose material shows have vanish- 
ed, but whose fineless empire* still sways mankind ; and 
each senator, robed in sternness and mystery, passes before 
you an embodied type of Truth and moral Destiny ! It 
was the cradle of all civilized polity ; the nursery where 
grew those forms of state which are yet the unshaken 
deities of the mortal scene, whose empire is deep as our 
nature and continuing as our race. In this atmosphere, 
personal character grew august, because it became a temple 

* Imperum sine fine dedit. 



232 THE ROMAN FORUM. 

of Honor, Faith, and Duty, on whose altar the first sacri- 
fice offered was self. From all the crowd of greatness that 
fills this space — from Caius Marius and Lucius Sylla and 
Scipio Africanus— fancy turns away to fix its reverent 
scrutiny upon one lonely figure — that hides the greatest 
soul that is recorded in mortal annals. Arrived in Rome, 
from a distant captivity, he visits not his own dwelling, 
but has hastened instantly to the Forum and the Senate ; 
he puts away from him his little sons and the kiss of his 
chaste wife, as a man disgraced, and casts his darkening 
countenance to. the ground ; whilst he urges the hesitating 
Senators, by every appeal that patriotism can suggest or 
feel, to vindicate the character of Rome by consigning him 
to captivity and death. Such counsel never did another 
give ! Conscious of the barbarian tortures that await him, 
the conqueror of fame opens out his way among the friends 
that oppose, and the' people who would delay, his return, 
not otherwise than if, having gained some tedious process 
of his clients, he was setting off for the green slopes of 
Venafrum or the breezy cliffs of Tarentum. And what a 
triumph he w r as hastening to consummate ! He gave to 
Carthage a brief life, and won from her a glory so trans- 
cending, that Humanity itself grows exalted in the con- 
templation. 

In the moral apprehension of these men, the State was 
a Religion. Society was known to be a divine existence, 
from which each drew great impulses, and to which all 
owed sacred reverence. The national consciousness was 
felt as the true identity of the citizen, into whose high, 
eternal force individual passion was taught to burn. Thus 
legislation was their instinct; government, justice, and 
equity, their familiar reason. Praetors here gave decrees 
that are precedents for all time to come. Emperors, faith- 
ful to the hereditary divinity of their office, here gave 



THE ROMAN FORUM. 283 

responses which are garnered into the oracles of jurispru- 
dence. And this valley became the chancery of earth's 
justice, " Templum sanctitatis, arnplitudinis mentis, con- 
silii publici, caput urbis, aram socioruni, portum omnium 
gentium." That discipline, that organization, that divinity 
in society, which controls men's individual dealings, and 
moderates even between contending nations — LAW — has 
its original development in this scene. The tree which 
now spreads protection and shelter over the world, has its 
roots in the grey soil of yonder 

[A complete break in the MS. appears here.] 
There are two objects in the view beneath us which 
seem to possess a peculiar interest, as great moral land- 
marks in history, and connecting Rome peculiarly with the 
evolution of humanity, and the perpetual interests of the 
race. I mean the Arch of Titus and the Arch of Oon- 
stantine. They are near to one another, and directly under 
your eyes; and both are in almost perfect preservation. 
Time and Fortune, which have accumulated such interest 
upon Rome, have left these two monuments to explain to 
us why it is especially that Rome impresses us so inti- 
mately, and with such vital interest. 

Protestant countries, in their jealous reverence for the 

written volume of God's dealings with man, overlook too 

much that large portion of the scheme of divine guidance 

and blessing of mankind which is not registered or ex- 

j plained in that book, but left to be studied and compre- 

1 hended by man's natural reason. All that is miraculous 

is contained in the letters of that written volume. The 

| Bible is the infallible record of the history of Spirituality, 

so long as it was a thing existing mystically — prophetically 

— by anticipation — in a chosen and peculiar people — or in 

a select gens among that people — down to the time when, 

20* 



234 THE ROMAN FORUM. 

in the person of the divine Son of God, and in his teach- 
ings, that which had been a thing before inspired speci- 
ally only, became a thing revealed to all the world — an 
ever-continuing gift to men. This revelation to the nations 
of the Immanuel, or God within us, took place, we are 
told, " in the fullness of time j" that is, when the nations 
had been duly prepared to receive and appropriate it. The 
record of this preparation, — the explanation of the instru- 
mental means which God had gradually prepared or evolved 
for the establishment and diffusion of Christianity in the 
world, — is not given in the Holy Scriptures. It belongs 
to the history of God's ordinary providence, whilst acting 
gradually and by intermediary agents. The medium pre- 
pared for the distribution and application of Christianity 
through the world was the universal Empire of Rome — 
the civil organization which it had infused throughout all 
the world — the politic and legal constitutions which it set 
up in every kingdom where it swayed. Spirituality was 
the great function of the Jewish people, for that is a thing 
revealed and enforced preternaturally. But its elements 
are implanted in man's nature and evolved by society's 
experience. The development of morality was not the 
office of Judea. That august mission was assigned to 
Rome, and by her nobly performed. When the whole 
frame work of society was civilized and constructed and 
regulated by Roman policy and laws, it was ready to re- 
ceive the finer infusion of spirituality, and to convey it 
throughout all nations. The connection of Rome with the 
spiritual history chronicled in the Scriptures is impressively 
registered by these columns. One records the conquest of 
Judea by Rome, under the auspices of Titus ; and the bas- 
reliefs which exhibit the golden candlesticks, the table, and 
the trumpets borne in his triumph, are still perfect. The 
other, in honor of Constantine's victory over Maxentius, 



THE ROMAN FORUM. 235 

which it ascribes to an " instinctus divinitatis," is the first 
gleam of the Sun of Righteousness over the imperial towers 
of Rome, which was thenceforth to reflect them in never- 
fading lustre. Among the last temporal dominions swal- 
lowed up in Rome was Judea, "by which the purely spiritual 
nature of the kingdom of the new Messiah became histori- 
cally established. When Christianity had become sys- 
tematized and illustrated under the regime of apostles and 
martyrs, and the church was fully matured and strength- 
ened, and required only to be diffused, it coalesced with 
the Roman constitution in the person of Constantine, and 
thus was spread abroad over the world. It went hand in 
hand with Rome's civil constitution. 

Identified with the Roman law, that law triumphed every- 
where by its superiority of equity and reason ; and Chris- 
tianity has shared its triumph. The moral, and social, and 
legal institutions of Rome were the divinely appointed 
channels and aid by which Christianity, in going forth 
through the world, was to be conveyed and enforced. Spi- 
rituality has so feeble a hold upon man's nature, that, 
without supports and alliances it cannot, except by mira- 
cle, prevail against the passions and interests of the world. 

The whole fabric of European law, in its most compre- 
hensive sense, is, to this day, Roman : and the dominion 
of the civil law is increasing, not diminishing. The intense 
insular nationality of England alone developed the system 
of the common law in exclusion of the civil law ; but it was 
not long before Equity, which is a true praetorian law, 
gained an ascendency over the logical forms of the native 
system; and the maxims and morality of the civilians 
have, under this name, been the paramount and controlling 
rule of English life for three centuries. Nay, the common 
law itself exhibits symptoms of exhaustion, and both in 



236 THE ROMAN FORUM. 

England and America will probably be broken down by 
the superior pretensions of the code, either by the fusion 
of equity with law, or the complete abolition of the En- 
glish system. [The MS. here ends abruptly.] 



ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 



Ox the twenty-ninth of January, in the year of grace 
one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one — it was one of 
Italy's brightest and bluest mornings — I set out at an early 
hour from Naples to ascend Vesuvius. The air was fresh 
and balmy, and full of the glorious intoxication of that un- 
rivaled climate. I am of a social temper; but in Nature's 
most heavenly scenes I can bear no companionship, but the 
dearest and most social, — such as thoughts of the absent 
memories of the departed. These, in such spots, throng 
around me, and crowd my musing with delightful fellow- 
ship. That I might be escorted by a full attendance of 
this spiritual band, I went alone. 

As I drove along the mole, Vesuvius, in its brightest 
magnificence, opened upon me. From the summit of the 
mountain — erect, massive, glittering white as a mighty co- 
lumn of the marble of Pentelicus, rose straight upward a 
huge column of vapor, which, after ascending unbroken, 
and firm enough, apparently, to hold up the falling sky, 
gradually floated off, and became one of the clouds that are 
the footstool of the Lord of Heaven. — It was that same 
cloud, which, at its first appearance, near two thousand 
years ago, attracted the curious gaze of the elder Pliny at 
Misenum, and made him set off in his galley to view it 
more closely; and which the younger Pliny describes as 
resembling a pine tree, shooting up, with a straight trunk, 
to a great height, and then branching off at the top. To 



238 ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 

me, in the pure, still, holy morning, the volcano seemed 
rather like a vast standing encensior, from which Earth 
was sending up a homage breathed out of the deepest re- 
cesses of its bosom, and not unmeet to mingle among the 
high airs of heaven. The early rays were tinging the deli- 
cate mist, from which an Italian landscape is never free, 
into deep violet tones ; and the grand old mountain seemed 
to raise himself aloft in true imperial state, robed in purple, 
and crowned with a pearly diadem. 

Leaving my carriage, to await my return at Resina, — 
which, by the by, stands directly over the ancient Hercu- 
laneum, parts of which have been excavated beneath — I 
took a horse and a mounted guide (of course a son of the 
old Salvatore, as no doubt all the other guides are, equally) 
and set out for the summit of the mountain. This is the 
best arrangement for men, as the canter up and down the 
hill is a pleasant part of the excursion ; but for ladies it is 
advisable to drive up in a carriage as far as the Hermitage 
or Observatory, recently established by the King of Na- 
ples. There is nothing which strikes you as different from 
an ordinary mountain, until you are about half way up, 
when the masses of lava, which lie about the roots of the 
volcano, black as death, come upon your view. From that 
point, the spectacle that expands below you on the other 
side, as you look away from the hill, is one to which all the 
resources of earth show nothing superior. I consider it as 
one of the great views of the world. Beneath your feet 
rests the arching bay of Naples, defined by Misenum on the 
right and Sorrento on the left. From Eesina, towards 
Naples, and on through it to Posilippo, the entire circuit 
of the shore, which the Castle derUovo divides beautifully 
into a double scollop, is one unbroken, glittering range of 
white buildings, presenting a grand and regular outline. 
At that extremity of the line rise the pyramidical masses 



ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 239 

of Ischia and Procida, and other headlands that guard 
the retiring beauties of the voluptuous Baioe. Naples 
sparkled forth like a cluster of signet gems set in hills, 
with a range of loftier heights behind it. The waters of 
the bay, near the circling beach — always blue — looked 
more deeply so from the elevation at which I stood : while 
on the opposite side, towards Sorrento, the sun — itself hid- 
den from us by clouds— streamed down in blazing efful- 
gence upon the water, and the isle of Capri loomed up in 
the middle of the gulf, like an irregular mass of bronze 
rising out of a sea of liquid gold. On the right, behind 
Naples and Portici, to the line of the distant mountains, 
extended a vast hollow plain, in which lay a dozen white 
and closely built villages, scattered about, and, in the in- 
termediate spaces, single houses, peeping out like stars on 
the approach of evening; at the first glancing look you 
might see none, but afterwards, at every point on which 
your eye might rest, a villa would seem to reveal itself to 
your scrutiny.* Beyond the hills that etched a relieving 
back ground to the plain, spread the dark, broad waters of 
the Mediterranean, in the gulf of Graita. The air between 
the Bay of Naples and the sky above it, was one conflagra- 
tion of azure light; upon the plain, at the side, lay a 
purple atmosphere, deep enough to color and illuminate 
the picture, not obscure it. It seemed as if I had come at 
last upon the very court, and home and dwelling place of 
Aurora; and the snowy villages which sparkled with 
brighter show amid a spectacle where all was brilliant, 
looked like garlands of white flowers, which the early hours 
had scattered beneath her forthgoing steps, and which still 
lay glittering on the ground. It was a treasury of the glo- 
ries of earth and air. 

* See Wordsworth's Evening Yoluntaries, 1. 



240 ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 

A good carriage road reaches to the Hermitage, and 
thence, there is a "bridle-path half a mile further, to the 
base of the volcano, where the ascent on foot begins. You 
clamber straight up over fragments of hard lava of the 
size of paving-stones, till you reach the summit. The 
guide who, like all his tribe, was a sheer nuisance from be- 
ginning to end, here produced a machinery of ropes and 
sticks, and proposed to tie me or himself, or both of us, 
round the body, and to drag me, or get me to drag him, I 
forget which, up the steep. As I had passed the summer 
in Switzerland, and had served an apprenticeship to moun- 
tain-climbing, at the Fauldhorn, the Wengern Alp and the 
Bighi, I had no notion of being brought to the strappado, 
although I was under the tyranny of Naples. Declining, 
therefore, " the unusual punishment" of the rope, which I 
took to be inconsistent with the constitution concerned, I 
bade the knave look out for himself, and I set forth upon 
a rush up the vertical precipice. Nothing but the rough- 
ness of the lava surface, and its softness, which enabled 
you to anchor your legs knee deep in the soil, renders the 
ascent practicable. A series of vehement rushings brought 
me at length to the top, and I found that I had accom- 
plished the race in half an hour. 

The first thing that I came upon here was the great 
crater of the eruption of 1794, — now dry and scorious, and 
black as a bosom in which sensual passion has burnt itself 
to exhaustion. Though crusted over and closed, it was 
steaming and smoking through sundry apertures. Travers- 
ing it, I arrived at the large crater of 1850, — a still raw 
and open ulcer of earth. The wind was blowing from us, 
and the circumstances were favorable for viewing the ca- 
vity. It was filled with a dense volume of white gas, 
which was whirling and rapidly ascending ; but the breeze 
occasionally drove it to the opposite side and disclosed the 



ASCENT OF VESUVIUS, 241 

depths of the frightful chasm. It descended a prodigious 
distance, in the shape of an inverted, truncated cone, and 
then terminated in a circular opening. The mysteries of 
^the profound immensity beyond, no human eye might see, 
no human heart conceive. We hurled some stones into the 
gulf and listened till they struck below. The guide gravely 
assured me, that ten minutes elapsed before the sound was 
heard; I found, by the watch, that the interval was, in 
reality, something over three quarters of a minute;— and 
that seems almost incredibly long. When the vapor, at 
intervals, so far thinned away that one could see across, as 
through a vista, the opposite side of the crater, viewed 
athwart the mist, seemed several miles distant, though, in 
fact, but a few hundred feet. The interior of the shelving 
crater was entirely covered over with a bed of knob-like 

blossoms of brilliant white, yellow, green, red, brown 

the sulphurous flowers of Hell. I cannot describe this 
spectacle, for, in impression and appearance, alike, it re- 
sembles nothing else that I have seen before or since. It 
j was like Death, — which has no similitudes in life. It was 
like a vision of the Second Death. As the sun gleamed 
at times through the white breath that swayed and twisted 
about the maw of the accursed monstrosity, there seemed 
to be an activity in the vaulted depth,— but it was the ac- 
| tivity of shadows in the concave of nothingness. It seemed 
t the emblem of destruction, itself, extinct. There was 
j something about it revoltingly beautiful, disgustingly splen- 
, did. One while, its circling rim looked like the parched 
shore of the ever-absorbing and ever-empty sea of annihi- 
I lation. Another while it seemed like a fetid cancer on the 
, breast of earth, destined one day to consume it. To me it 
I was purely uncomfortable and wholly uninspiring. It 
I seemed to freeze back fancy and sentiment to their sources. 
21 



242 ASCENT OP VESUVIUS. 

It was not terrible, it was merely horrible. It is a thing 
to see once, but I care not to see such a thing again in this 
world ; and Jesus grant that I may see nothing like it in 
the next. 



REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

If Leonardo, Correggio and Eafael sit together in the 
highest circle of the heavenly council of imaginative crea- 
tion, unchallenged Dii Majorum Gentium, Michael An- 
gelo dwells supreme, even above gods, the all-powerful, self- 
inspired, Olympian Jupiter of Art. He moves with a be- 
nignant complacency among the great forms that he calls 
into existence for his own satisfaction, — a lofty, lonely, 
lordly spirit, but gentle, sensitive and overflowing with 
sympathy. The other great artists satisfy and delight every 
sensibility of our purer nature : he raises our consciousness 
to a higher condition, and expands our spirits and feelings 
with the joyous power of thoughts and emotions appropriate 
to beings of a grander frame. The supremacy of Michael 
Angelo, is of the mind : it lies in that mighty soaring of 
intellectual power, that profound range of moral compre- 
hension, which make his works a subject for reverence as 
well as an enthusiasm. His imagination was as fervent as 
his thoughts were piercing, and he could embody all the 
force and all the fineness of his convictions and of his 
dreams, in forms as expressive as they were magnificent. 
In understanding and in spirit, he seems to me to have 
been one of the greatest natures that ever exhibited itself 
through the medium of Art. As a creator, in his depart- 
ment; not less marvellous, or less inspired than Shakspeare 



244 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

himself; and to be studied with the same careful and 
reverent attention. 

If greatness of conception characterizes Michael Angelo 
as a thinker, a commensurate greatness of style distinguishes 
him as an artist. In that particular he stands alone. 
Rafael and Correggio caught from him an expansion of 
manner that made their noblest excellence : but no one 
ever rose to that lofty platform upon which he habitually 
moved. He stands among his contemporaries like the last 
outliving example of a race organized upon a larger intel- 
lectual and imaginative scale. Leonardo, Correggio and 
Rafael had high and deep sentiments to communicate; but 
they made use of personal forms of the ordinary mould, 
and relied upon outline and expression as the medium of 
suggesting their interior meanings. Michael Angelo, for 
the representation of his great views of character, employed 
figures of superhuman and heroic proportions : a principle 
no doubt founded in the truth of human nature, for we 
instinctively conceive of extraordinary intellect or dignity 
under a form of superior magnitude, and a certain degree 
of physical pre-eminence seems to be the natural and ap- 
propriate type of greatness of nature and of ability. His 
ideal is the reproduction of a perfect humanity ; but with 
everything magnified, both physiological and mental; 
vaster power, loftier intelligence, deeper sensibility, nobler 
soul. In the effect produced, the surpassing greatness 
and power of his beings are pre-eminently and essentially 
moral; qualities of the soul, not of the frame. For that 
extraordinary development of material strength which his 
subjects possess, as employed by him, is always represent- 
ative of a spiritual grandeur; and he uses exaggerated 
physical types only as a means of representing, — as under 
his treatment they altogether do represent — an heroic sta- 
tute of the inward nature. The greatness of his creations 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 245 

is inherent, natural, essential ; not the result of excitement 
and effort. It is his characteristic manner to represent 
power in repose. His beings appear to be persons capable 
and possessed of irresistible force and energy, were they 
called forth : but they are commonly shown as quiescent, 
or as recovering from disturbance, or as self-restrained. 
They are natures of mighty and intense susceptibility, but 
under the spell of art, gentle and calm : beings whose re- 
flections, passions, sufferings and delights are, when stirred, 
of Titanic vehemence and vividness, but who exhibit not 
their emotions by bodily agitations and distortions, which 
are the weakness, not the strength of nature. The mild- 
ness, modesty, and pleasantness of temper that seem to 
animate his Cyclopean population, shed a charm of harm- 
lessness over them, which reconciles them to our sympathy. 
The utmost moderation, and quietness, and goodness, en- 
dear them to our respect and love. This repose of spirit, 
in connection with such power, has a double virtue ; it is 
suitable to the character of Art, and it tends to stamp a 
moral impression upon the figures whose physical qualities 
are thus controlled and softened. He is almost the only 
person who has been able to exhibit greatness of force 
otherwise than in a dynamic condition. The somewhat 
twisted attitudes in which he often exhibits his subjects 
are intended to aid the representation of their inherent 
power, without the figure being thrown into violent action, 
and losing its pre-eminently moral characteristics. One of 
his devices for indicating strength in a condition of com- 
posure, is to bend the hand somewhat inward at the wrist; 
by which development of muscle is shown with an im- 
pression of force kept in upon itself. This in Yasari and 
other imitators, becomes a tedious mannerism. Some hasty 
critics have spoken of Michael Angelo's delighting to throw 
his subjects in unusual positions for the purpose of making 

21* 



246 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS, 

an arbitrary display of his knowledge of the anatomy of 
the figure. I doubt if any instance of such imbecility can 
be authenticated throughout the whole range of his crea- 
tions. I certainly have seen no example in which the 
peculiarity of the attitude, however strange it might be, 
did not appear to me exclusively intended to accomplish a 
moral significance and effect, and in which it did not seem 
fully to accomplish it. 

But the capacity to use these mighty anatomical forms 
as hieroglyphics of a spiritual composition, passed not to 
the scholars and imitators of the great master. They 
copied his gigantesque types, but they could express no- 
thing with them but physical power ; and that only by 
putting the limbs into action, often inappropriate or ex- 
travagant. Thus in Vasari's emulation of his teacher, in 
the frescoes in one of the chapels in S. Pietro de' Casinensi, 
at Perugia, the show of excited power without a sufficient 
object, is not less than burlesque. In the Marriage of 
Cana, in that series, some men are carrying a dish, and 
one of them has his limbs in such a condition of effort and 
force as would have been suitable in Hercules upholding 
the world. So, in the Sala de' Griganti in the Palazzo del 
Te, near Mantua, where Julio Romano has attempted 
Michael Angelo's manner in the war of the Titans against 
Jupiter, all is action, and all the action of material power. 

But greatness of sentiment and manner forms not the 
only superiority of Michael Angelo. Where is there a 
tenderness so deep, a sensibility so earnest, a sympathy so 
irresistible in its appeal, as in the grave, calm, controlled 
faces and forms of his subjects ? From him we learn that 
nothing is so touching as the repressed softness of strong, 
great souls. His creatures hide beneath their pensive re- 
serve, a world of mighty emotion. Where is there a beauty, 
higher, clearer, truer, than in some of the female figures 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 247 

on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel? Free from everything 
showy, voluptuous or meretricious, it does not stimulate 
sentiment, but rather impresses, chastens and exalts it. It 
is the token of a bright, unstained, intellectual goodness, 
within : not abstract and commonplace, but identified with 
the moral personality of the character, and appropriate to 
her relations; firmly allied to virtue, not weakly tempting 
to evil. But it is in an elevated, intense, yet calm reli- 
gious sensibility and purity that Michael Angelo's special 
and incomparable value consists. His was a pencil framed 
to incarnate in form, the souls of Prophets and Apostles ; 
and in his frescoes, they appear surrounded with the same 
atmosphere of holiness, uttering the same exalting exhorta- 
tions, breathing the same sympathy with heaven, that be- 
longs to them in the recorded word. The thoughtful con- 
templation of his works is a mental service of confession. 
He inherited a grand, cathedral spirit, in which every form 
and sound and color, through beauty, became subservient 
to religion. I know not how to abstain from placing him 
above all other artists; for I know that after passing an 
hour in the Sistine chapel, I was spoilt for the Stanze of 
the Vatican. Glowing from Michael Angelo's ever present 
lightnings of thought, majestic depth and power of feeling, 
and inexhaustible copiousness of creative energy, even 
Rafael's perfections seem cold, insipid and dull. 

In fresco painting, the ceiling of the Sistine chapel is 
the principal and sufficient monument of Michael Angelo's 
inexhaustible moral invention, his powers of various illus- 
tration, his rich conception of beauty, his profound reach and 
range of thought. A series of compartments along the centre 
of the vault represent, as is well known, successive events 
in the early biblical history of man : in the angles cut off by 
the arches of the sides are seated figures of the Prophets 
and Sibyls, alternately ; and on the arches, a series of com- 



248 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

positions illustrating the genealogy of the Saviour. The 
full appreciation of this multitude of profound studies 
would require the examination of weeks. As an example 
of the nature of these productions, I shall give a brief de- 
scription of the series of the Prophets and Sibyls. 

There is one of these figures at each end of the ceiling, 
and four along either side of it, making in all ten. They 
are all in the attitude of being occupied with recording the 
prophetic illumination which they will presently utter, and 
the variety of modes in which they are exhibited as receiv- 
ing this instruction, and the appropriateness of each mode 
to the special character of each of the prophetic persons, 
furnishes striking evidence of the copious imagination of 
their author. 

First, on the side series, sits Jeremiah ; a grand, sub- 
lime, melancholy figure ; leaning forward with his right 
arm rested upon his knee, and the hand shading his mouth; 
the other arm hanging listlessly over his lap ; both bent at 
the wrist with that characteristic tension which indicates a 
suppressed excitement of the nerves; his long beard droop- 
ing down to his lap; his feet crossed; thoughtful, absorbed 
and wrapt, yet quick in every fibre with the ethereal fire 
of pervading inspiration. He seems to be preparing to re- 
ceive the foreboding communications of an avenging God ; 
waiting, depressed but great, for those awful messages 
which it is his glory and his grief to convey. Behind 
him stand two beautiful but sad figures, attending till their 
lord, the prophet, has imbibed the terrible inspiration, 
'which, received in the silence and gloom of the gathering 
storm, will give itself forth, anon, in the fury and magnifi- 
cence of the raging thunder-tempest. August and impetu- 
ous as the organ of divine utterance ere long will be, he 
now sits drooping in human gloom for the fate of others, 
feeling through holy sympathy that sorrow for their sins 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 249 

which they feel not for themselves. The coloring of this 
figure is clear, strong and pretty high ; and is fresh and 
well-conditioned. 

Next sits the Persian Sibyl, writing intently in a book 
held up near to her face ; her head averted sideways in the 
eagerness of her interest to record every revelation of truth 
ere it be withdrawn forever. The excitement and blaze of 
enthusiasm are quivering in every limb of her noble form. 
Behind stands a man of mature years, his arms crossed 
upon his breast, waiting the issue of the Sibyl's fervor. 

Then comes Ezekiel. An angelic figure, of female beau- 
ty indescribable, — vivid and rapid, as becomes the swiftly 
descended messenger of the Omnipotent, who pauses on 
earth only for a period, — directs the attention of the prophet 
upon a roll at the side of the picture, on which are written 
the eternal judgments of the All-holy. The seer, half 
starting from his seat, with his arms stretched forth in an 
attitude of reverent submission, leans forward in keen, 
astonished earnestness, to read the truths of everlasting 
moment that there burn before his eyes. He holds in his 
other hand the roll on which he will presently record the 
message he thus receives. It seems that the vision is vouch- 
safed to him but for one moment, and he explores and 
pierces the scroll, as one who must snatch in an instant, 
the startling truths which it is fatal for him not to possess 
and to communicate. The eagerness of a servant of the 
Lord, vehement to know, fervent to adopt, impetuous to 
execute the will of his Jehovah, is splendidly and power- 
fully lightened forth from this glorious figure. A grand 
profile is firmly set off with a short, white curling beard, 
and a turban. He wears a red tunic, and a gray mantle 
which streams in the current of the angelic visitation. 

The Erythraean Sibyl is a grave, composed, lofty and 
beautiful figure, seated before an open volume placed up- 



250 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

right, her knees crossed, one arm hanging by her side, the 
other placed upon the book, saddened yet calm, more 
possessing, than mastered by the inspiration of her nature. 

The last personage on this line is Joel, an aged and 
somewhat emaciated figure, who holds with both hands, 
and reads with pondering and studious care the roll on 
which are the words that he has written ; while, behind, 
are two angels waiting his behest. A calm, earnest, pro- 
found interest in the accuracy of his message, is the charac- 
teristic expression of this fine figure. The coloring of the 
scarlet mantle over the rich tunic is more brilliant and 
agreeable than in most of the others. 

On the end is Zachariah, a still more aged and most 
venerable figure, with bald head and copious beard. His 
face is meek and saintly ; refined from all earthly passion, 
and animated only by the constraining love and adoration 
of God. He reads intently in a book, which may be the 
law that it concerns him to preach. In the back-ground 
are two lovely figures, one of them with his arm over the 
shoulder of the other. 

As we go up along the other side, the nearest is the 
Delphic Sibyl; and nothing displays the fine intellectual 
genius of Michael Angelo more strikingly, than the dis- 
crimination which he has here made between the Jewish and 
the classic inspiration. This is the type of an enthusiasm 
which is not spiritual, but essentially heathen in its ele- 
ments and aesthetic in its character. The figure is charm- 
ingly beautiful, and seems to hide within it a lovely nature. 
It is not disturbed by the illumination with which it is 
animated ; its lines are all graceful and composed, though 
grand and majestic. From the face seems to be streaming, 
in visible glory and power, the prophetic light and truth, 
of whose meaning, her nature, who is the vehicle of it, is 
all unconscious. It is this absence of identification between 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 251 

the afflatus and the mind that transmits it, — the singular 
impersonality of the inspiration that dwells upon and within 
the being, lighting it up and making it radiant with the 
graces and lustre of a higher and mightier existence, that 
gives this figure its peculiar and fascinating expression. 
She seems to be afraid of the power of which she is the 
minister, and almost shrinks in timidness or modesty from 
the revelations which it is her destiny to transmit. How dif- 
ferent is the dogmatizing, relentless, all-fervid impetuosity 
of Hebrew passion, mingling itself into the divine which it 
communicates, and absorbing into his human consciousness 
all the force of the overpowering Godhead ! In the sad, 
lovely, youthful yet care-worn brow, there is something in- 
expressibly touching and engaging. Dominichino must 
be allowed to have borrowed the face and expression of his 
Cumaean Sibyl from this figure. Indeed it is the original 
of nearly all his female heads. 

Next sits Esaias. The prophet, youthful in years, yet 
gray and worn with the thoughts and feelings that quickly 
take away the glow of life, has been meditating on the 
volume of the law which stands, with his finger still in it, 
upon the seat beside him. Two infant angels seem announc- 
ing to him the approaching breath of the fire of the Lord. 
He turns startled and awed; reverential yet almost re- 
pentant ; on his face is gathering the cloud of awe that 
precedes and dimly foretypifies the tremendous emotions 
that are soon to surround and possess him. 

If the Delphian Sibyl is the most beautiful of these 
figures, the Cumaean Sibyl is the most sublime. She is 
an aged crone, of vast height and limbs of majestic power, 
who turns half way round, and resting on a column the 
book of Fate, which she holds partly open with both 
hands, spells out, with keen and painful intentness, the 
hidden mysteries of truth. Her knees are closed together, 



252 EEMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

as if she drew herself up in the possessing energy of her 
sacred meditations. She seems not so much the minister 
and oracle of Fate, as one of the Fates themselves, ponder- 
ing what she shall decree. 

Next is Daniel, the "man beloved;" youthful, beauti- 
ful; blazing with sentiment; soft with those affections 
which are full of hope and forward-looking fervor. He is 
earnestly writing upon a roll from an open volume, which 
an angel who has brought it to him, supports before him. 

Last of that line is the Libyan Sibyl ; a slight figure, 
full of sensibility, turning round to put away from her the 
rolls and volumes of inspiration. She has read them till 
her soul has become sad and sick with the deadly secrets 
of inevitable Fate, and unable any longer to endure the 
overwhelming truth, she seems vainly endeavoring to put 
aside her fearful mission. The pathetic tenderness and 
beauty of her face, seen in connection with the youthful 
delicacy and light grace of her feet and limbs, are ex- 
quisitely winning. 

At the end of the apartment sits the prophet Jonas ; a 
graceful form, swelling with emotion. The roll of revela- 
tion lies at his side, and overwhelmed apparently by the 
immensity of the feelings which it excites, he throws him- 
self back, away from it, and looks up to heaven with a face 
of imploring agony, appealing to Omnipotence if there be 
no remission to man from such a doom, no exemption to 
himself from the communication of it. In all this college 
of half-heavenly humanity, there is not a face and form 
more impressive than this. 

I can conceive of no subjects more elevated, more com- 
plicated, more profound, than such a series of impersona- 
tions of judicial prophecy ; human in every feature and 
every feeling ; transcendent by the vastness and intensity 
of moral thought and moral sensibility. They draw our 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 253 

deepest interest towards them through the sympathies of 
mind and conscience ; then soar away into sublimity and 
bear our spirit upward with them. Isaiah, and Daniel, and 
Jeremiah, — how vast the design of embodying those ideas 
of an all-piercing intelligence, — whose illumination is sup- 
plied from the light of goodness, — an all-rebuking severity 
whose indignation is mingled with the fervors of love, — an 
august dignity pervaded by a melting tenderness, — which 
belong to our conceptions of those mystic beings and 
invisible forms which shall re-awake those sweet im- 
pulses of reverent affection, with which our youth regarded 
those great, yet gentle fathers of our spiritual life. Need 
greater praise be given than to say, — what all will feel 
may be said with truth, — that the pencil of Michael 
Angelo reveals in even heightened grandeur, the souls, the 
understandings, the characters and the aspect of the Great 
Prophets of the Most High. 

One striking and most impressive peculiarity in all these 
figures is their uniform and deep sadness. 

The significance and power of the Last Judgment, which 
is painted on the end wall of the Chapel, are so entirely 
subjective and moral, that the eye which wanders .over its 
surface, in a commonplace and exterior mood, will probably 
see nothing but a confused mass of distorted limbs. It must 
be studied silently and reverently; and the mind must be 
gradually pressed, as it were, to a high focus of reflection and 
feeling, before it can receive the perfect image of thought 
which this vast composition is adapted to produce. The 
scene is meant to embody to the imagination but a single, 
mere absolute conception, — that of Judgment. It is a 
representation of the whole human world as it would appear 
under the operation of divine Justice alone. Mercy, 
long-suffering, compassion and forgiveness are qualities of 
22 



254 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

the divine nature ; "but their sphere is elsewhere ; in the 
time past or the time to come. Probation, mediation, re- 
mission are parts of the heavenly system ; "but none of 
them are in place or in action in this awful moment, when 
Judgment only lightens forth through the whole scene, 
and in terror sweeps from the east to the west, and from 
the north to the south. The Son of God puts off the linea- 
ments of Redeemer, Saviour, Intercessor, and starts forth 
in the awful aspect of the inexorable Just Judge. We 
may suppose that Michael Angelo meant an ideal view of 
the Christian world as would appear, if the single test of 
Justice were brought to bear upon it ; or if he be thought 
to have intended a prophetic picture of a scene that will 
one day become actual, we must consider that he has 
chosen that instant, when Judgment alone is rising to go 
forth, and the other antagonist influences of the scheme 
have not yet risen to obviate and counteract it. The Judge 
seated on his throne fulminates throughout the universe 
the blazing terrors of divine Justice. Before the burning 
glance of him, " in whose presence shall no man living be 
justified," the evil fall in anguish of horror; the good, 
even, are smitten with dismay; martyrs, in alarm, hold 
forth the instruments of their sufferings, to appeal through 
them for mercy and acceptance ; apostles and saints are 
frozen with awe; even the Virgin, shrinking, veils her face 
and seems unable to look upon the countenance of the 
Judge. One penetrating throb of terror chills the whole 
of creation. 

The mighty moralist of Art had reached his sixtieth 
year, when, in the loftiness of an integrity, fit to rebuke 
pontiffs and cardinals, he approached this great task in a 
spirit to leave a memorable lesson for a corrupt and profli- 
gate court. He appealed to them with this reflection, that, 
if in the terrors of that fearful day, even canonized and 



MICHAEL ANGELO, 255 

sainted persons — the adoration of the church — tremble and 
sink, how will you appear — sensualists, reprobates, atheists ! 

Sculpture grew from the religion of the Greek, which 
was "a natural faith/' and its office was to embody the 
natural sentiments of Intelligence, Power, Beauty, Swift- 
ness, Strength, Dignity. Painting is the offspring and 
appropriate instrument of the Judaico-Christian inspiration, 
and its true function is spiritual, interior, figurative. I 
think it may be affirmed that nowhere has the character of 
this faith, in all its depth, fullness, and peculiarity, been 
brought out in Art as it has been in these great works of 
Michael Angelo, who has compassed every note of this 
great scale, and marked it in forms and colors. As in the 
galleries of the Vatican, you may see explained in greater 
truth and distinctness than in the fables of the poets, the 
whole mythology of a race that deified every natural and 
intellectual trait of man, so in this series of forms and 
scenes has Michael Angelo expressed every leading charac- 
teristic virtue of the spiritual system in a perfection worthy 
of the sanctuary and citadel of the piety of the church. 

The Paoline chapel, at the other end of the Sala Regia, 
contains two large frescoes by Michael Angelo, which are 
among his greatest works. On one side is the Crucifixion 
of St. Peter. The saint, fixed to the cross, in a reversed 
attitude, turns up his head and looks round in a manner to 
take away the painful impression that would otherwise be 
produced by that distressing position. The face is full of 
deep, manly pathos, and embodies an earnest, touching, 
ennobled expression. The group engaged in fastening him 
to the cross, forms as fine a composition as painting can 
exhibit. On the other side, is the Conversion of St. Paul : 
the Lord, attended by angels, appearing in the air; St. 
Paul thrown on the ground, his horse prancing wildly, and 
the attendants in various attitudes of astonishment and 



256 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

dismay. The form of Saul is such as only Michael Angelo 
could have drawn. Flung upon his back, his arms stretched 
out, his figure crouching and shrinking into the earth, as 
if his very soul fled in horror from the aspect of Christ, he 
is abased as only a divine terror could bow down a mortal 
spirit. The foreshortening of the limbs is remarkable. It 
is a picture of the highest interest. I must include also 
among Michael Angelo' s great works in Rome the Descent 
from the Cross, in the Trinita de Monti, executed by Daniel 
da Yolterra, the drawing of every line and lineament of 
which bears conclusive marks of the master's hand. To 
me it appears to be one of the most vivid, expressive, and 
life-like compositions in the world. In the Raising of 
Lazarus, in the National Gallery at London, the figure of 
Lazarus, and of the man under him, who is unloosing his 
bands, are clearly by Michael Angelo. The right leg and 
foot of Lazarus, and the throwing back of hisleft shoulder, 
are unmistakeably his. On the other hand, the figure of 
Christ, and all the other figures in the picture are, as ob- 
viously, not his work. They are mean, weak, and vacant. 
Among his easel pictures, the Holy Family, in the Tri- 
bune, is perhaps the most remarkable. It shows how es- 
sentially sculpturesque was the genius of Michael Angelo. 
The group consists of St. Joseph, kneeling on one knee, 
in front of whom, and lower, is the mother, who, seated on 
the ground, raises the infant over her head, and hands him 
to Joseph, who takes him from her. The three figures 
constitute a perfect statuary composition, ready to be 
blocked out in marble. The relief is vivid, but produced 
in an unusual way; not by light and shade, but by one 
color being set against another to produce a bold opposi- 
tion. The heads are full of great feeling, but in a way 
characteristic of Michael Angelo, who had probably de- 
rived from the models of sculpture his method of represent- 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 257 

ing emotion in a dormant and repressed condition. Fra 
Bartoloinineo, Raphael, and Correggio, represent the Ma- 
donna's love as brooding over its object in the highest in- 
tensity of spiritual enthusiasm ; the mother's countenance 
here is composed and even melancholy, but it is the coun- 
tenance of one who, under the impulse of maternal duty, 
in defence of that child, would brave not only sword and 
fire and the wrath of tigers, but heaven and hell and all 
infinite things. The Saviour's head shows the endeavor 
to represent a superior nature — an inherently superior 
nature, and not a nature elevated only by the exaltingness 
of an indwelling spirit. It is the head of a variety of the 
human kind above the ordinary race. We are so much 
habituated to see this head made interesting by features of 
the ordinary stamp being illuminated by the influence of 
an interior mind of divinity, that we do not at once ajDpre- 
ciate the method of making the person of the Saviour cha- 
racteristic and emblematic of his spiritual superiority. It 
is a method suggested to Michael Angelo by his Miltonic 
power of imagination, which tended to give visible repre- 
sentation to every conception of the mind. It belongs to 
a more complete and creative order of art, than that which 
would express divinity in man, by imitating on the coun- 
tenance the very expression itself. For sculpture it seems 
indispensable ; and Michael Angelo had .developed in paint- 
ing a new and corresponding mode of typifying the ex- 
altedness of the Son of God, blended of the human and 
divine. Everything here, as more or less in his general 
manner, shown in fresco, has qualities of a statuesque 
character. 

There is another beautiful and interesting work at Flor- 
ence, recently discovered, but well authenticated as drawn 
by him. It represents Fortune as a lovely woman, seated 
on a revolving wheel, flinging sceptres, crowns, and laurel 

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258 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

wreaths from her right hand, and letting thorns fall from 
the other. Her character is conceived as an amiable and 
benignant one ; throwing the blessings with a hearty good 
will, and suffering the evil tokens reluctantly to slip from 
her hold, clinging to them as long as possible. Her fea- 
tures have a pensive, placidly melancholy cast mixt with 
the dignity of a goddess : seeming to sympathize with the 
sad lot of the mortals on whom her duty compels her to 
cast at random the arbitrary symbols of weal and woe. 
She looks a little upward, so as not to see on whom fall 
the objects which it is her destiny to dispense. The soft 
atmosphere of the eyes is full of spiritual significance and 
attraction. The coloring is rich and fine ; much superior 
to the one in the Tribune. It is probably not executed by 
M. Angelo. 



LEONARDO DA VINCI. 






Among all that wonderful company of men whose genius, 
about the beginning of the 16 th century, conferred such 
glory upon Art, none was more extraordinary than Leo- 
nardo da Vinci. Others may stir a more glowing admira- 
tion, or impart a warmer pleasure, but none inspire so 
much astonishment or such insatiable curiosity. He is the 
founder of the modern and perfect style of Italian Art. 
Beyond all others, his labors contributed to that great 
transition by which nature became the language of Art. 
He first demonstrated that the forms of actual life are 
varied and expressive enough to embody every thought 
and feeling that genius can desire to communicate. He 
explored and illustrated the boundless field of character in 
man. The human face, that marvellous index of the soul, 
that register of the life and mirror of the passions, was his 
especial and untiring study. The collections of drawings 



LEONARDO DA VINCI. 259 

throughout Europe, at Milan, the Louvre, Lille, &c., 
abound with heads in crayon, by Leonardo, obviously 
sketched from observation. They include the most gro- 
tesque, ludicrous, horrible countenances; and show that, 
as others sought beauty or grandeur, he ceaselessly fol- 
lowed character. This intense, microscopic scrutiny of 
moral expression in countenance, gave him at last the 
power to paint " the mind's construction in the face," with 
an intelligence and power that would have been pronounced 
impossible. The subtlest ether of vital feeling that ex- 
hales from the features, became fixed and visible beneath 
his pencil. The several lines of sad anxiety and earnest 
striving, whose loneliness seemed to secure their being 
noted only in the book of God, are all numbered in the 
lineaments left to us by his extraordinary hand. His aim 
is not expression, which signalizes passing emotion, but 
character, which forms the resultant of the life's experi- 
ence. Beneath his eye, the countenance becomes the soul's 
confessional. In capacity to superinduce a mental signifi- 
cance and illumination over features not disturbed from 
absolute quiescence — to convey utterance from the spirit 
of the pictured subject to the feelings of the picture-gazer, 
through some other medium than physical action and ex- 
citement, Leonardo stands supreme and wonderful. Hence, 
the mysterious, unfathomable faces of his women ; the fea- 
tures dignified and mild, but with a weird and witch-like 
fascination ; and the dark smiling eyes, hiding or revealing 
a world of sentiment. The essential nature, with all its 
unconscious wiles and its illusive charms, being figured 
upon the lineaments, woman stands revealed upon Leo- 
nardo's canvass in her true quality as the sorceress of na- 
ture. Sometimes, the face is almost sadly " sicklied o'er 
with the pale cast of thought/' 

The dogmatising scepticism of German critics, after tor- 



260 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

menting literature and religion by the arrogate of doubts 
which " end where they began/' has come into the fields 
of Italian genius, and perplexed the traditions of Art, by 
assigning, conjecturally, to this or that scholar, works 
which had always been considered the genuine productions 
of the master. Leonardo has suffered so much under this 
process, that there is scarcely a single easel picture of 
which this artist retains the undisputed credit. As these 
deniers vary widely among themselves, every observer must 
judge upon the subject independently of them all. The 
difficulty of determining the genuineness of pictures ascrib- 
ed to da Vinci is undoubtedly greater than in the case of 
any other great painter. It seems unquestionable that he* 
employed certain of his pupils, especially Luini and Salai, 
to color pictures which he had drawn, and probably elabo- 
rately worked out in Chiaro-scuro. Salai also, who pos- 
sessed the talent of imitating his master with great plausi- 
bility, is charged with having fabricated works in the style 
of Leonardo, for purposes of deception. Strangely enough, 
too, so singular an affinity prevailed between the man- 
ners of Holbein and Leonardo, that some pictures, among 
them the portrait at Dresden, No. 1051, called Ludovico 
Sforzza, long ascribed to the latter, are now known to have 
been painted by Holbein. In respect to those works which 
there may be a temptation to ascribe, wholly or in part, to 
Luini or Salai, the intellectual power of the faces will 
generally determine whether the drawing has proceeded 
from Leonardo. In determining who has been the colorist, 
a reference to certain unquestionable productions of Da 
Vinci's hand, would suggest that his characteristic tone 
was something like an olive brown. The fine frescoes of 
Luini in the Brera, and his oil pictures elsewhere, would 
warrant us in ascribing to his beautiful pencil the coloring 
of those works of Leonardo which are distinguished by a 



LEONARDO DA VINCI. 261 

violet or lake tone, such as the Christ Disputing, in the 
National Gallery at London, the* at the 

Belvidere in Vienna, and the* in the 

Tribune. 

A small work of Leonardo's, the authenticity of which 
seems to be certain, is in the Ieronymite convent of St. 
Onofrio at Rome, the Sanctuary in which Tasso breathed 
his last, and in which his bones now rest. It was a 
favorite resort with me on the clear cool days of the de- 
lightful winter of 1851, for it is not only profoundly touch- 
ing from the associations of the scene with Tasso, but it 
affords perhaps the finest view of Rome and its surround- 
ing country, that the visitor to that region of magnificence 
can any where command. It stands near the summit of 
the Janiculum, and it is a toil to clamber to it. At your 
feet, to the left, lies St. Peter's, and directly beneath you 
is Rome, with its unnumbered cupolas and towers, its 
columns and obelisks. Beyond, you see the Alban moun- 
tain, the Sabine hills, and the Mount Soracte ; and further 
off, the purpled snowy ridge of the Apennines. The ruined 
trunk of the oak beneath which Tasso often mused upon 
' his sorrows, till their bitterness passed away from him in 
melody, still is rooted under the crest of the hill. 

The picture to which I have referred, does not give a 
: worthy impression of Leonardo, and justifies the suspicion 
which has been expressed, that within the shadow of the 
Vatican, his sensitive genius was rebuked by Michael 
] Angelo and Rafael, " as they say Mark Antony was by 
Caesar." It is painted upon the wall at the end of one of 
the halls, and is said to be in fresco. It is a lunette, 

* These blanks occur in the MS. They were obviously left 
that the author might refer to his catalogue, to get the popu- 
lar name of the picture. 



262 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

containing the Madonna and child; with an old man, the 
patron of the picture, kneeling at the side. The ground 
is brown, and is painted in imitation of mosaic. The 
dress of the Virgin is a deep "blue, with a green mantle 
gathered up over one shoulder. Her hair is red, and she 
wears a small cap far back upon her head. Her face is 
pallid, and displays a faint but sickly smile. The eyes 
are downcast, so that the orbs are not seen. The expres- 
sion has something death-like about it. The child in her 
lap stretches forward, to bless with two extended fingers, 
the kneeling old man. The child's figure is softly painted, 
but with little color. The Virgin head is small : indeed, 
the drawing of the whole is characterized by a timidity and 
contraction of manner that indicates weakness. A glass is 
over it, and the preservation is good, excepting, perhaps, 
that the flesh tones have somewhat fled. 

This picture makes it probable that the Vanity and 
Modesty in the Sciarra palace in the same city, is a genuine 
production of Leonardo, though very likely to have been 
colored by Luini. The tones are high, and the finish 
elaborate ; the power and thought and sentiment, that are 
stamped upon it, give it a fascination not entirely comfort- 
able. 

The Christ disputing with the Doctors or with the Pha- 
risees, is supposed also to have borrowed its delicate rosy 
tints from the pencil of the same assistant ; but the mighty* 
soul of Leonardo is to be traced throughout every part of 
the design. It is the most delightful picture in the col- 
lection where it is. The coloring is rich ; and for mere 
beauty of the work, is entitled to take a high place. But 
the spiritual significance which it breathes, constitutes its 
peculiar and greatest value. The Doctors, four in number, 
are not exhibited as stern, carping, malignant priests : they 



LEONARDO DA VINCI. 263 

are good and pure and upright men. One, in particular, 
on the right hand of the Saviour, with white hair on his 
brow and lip, is a being whose countenance a life of 
pious deeds, and an old age of holy thought on heavenly 
things, has refined from earthly grossness, and left a frame 
fitted to be the shrine of a better existence. The point of 
the artist's purpose lies in making the discrimination be- 
tween the character of the divine face, and the expression 
of even the best and most elevated of human countenances. 
The intelligence that dwells in them is in report with the 
outward. They indicate an attention habitually summoned 
forth by external life, and instinctively responding to its 
calls ; they bear its lines and furrows on the surface. Their 
calmness tells of a victory over the world, but a victory 
gained by long, close, earnest struggle with it. The Sa- 
viour's face is the veil of a spirit that is wrapt within it- 
self, and broods upon a consciousness apart from earth. 
Its sources of inspiration are in abstraction from the visi- 
ble scene. The features are still, unmoved, unexercised; 
yet charged with inspiration and with feeling. The con- 
, trast, thus strongly conceived and finely registered, is ex- 
tremely touching. 

The pendant, or companion piece to this picture, resem- 
bling it in size and shape, and equal to it in every par- 
' ticular, is the Madonna and child, No. 11 of the 11th 
chamber of the Esterhazy gallery at Vienna, strong in 
j thought, rich in beauty, and glorious in power. The 
' mother is in the centre. Her right hand is around the 
; body of the infant Saviour, who stands on a platform and 
\ leans over, turning the leaves of a book. The left hand 
! is held up in wonder. She wears a green robe : and her 
eyes are cast down. On her right is St. Catharine with a 
palm j her eyes raised. On the left is St. Barbara, gazing 



264 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

on the infant. The figure of the little Saviour is inimita- 
ble. For vigor, brilliance, and divine expression, I can 
conceive of nothing beyond it. This noble work has re- 
cently been assigned, upon mere conjecture, to Luini. A 
work, confessedly by him, hangs next to it ; the same sub- 
ject, No. 10. It is one of his good pictures; but it shows 
feebly and washy beside the Leonardo which it adjoins. 
There is an indescribable spell of mental enchantment, — a 
magnetic power of thought almost painfully vivid, — in this 
Madonna, as in the Christ amid the Doctors, that tells of 
a mighty and mysterious soul; whose revelations, the su- 
perficial and sensuous sweetness of Luini might beautify 
by decorating, but could never have conceived. 

A picture of the same class, that is, drawn by Leonardo, 
and colored by Luini, is the Herodias receiving the head 
of the Baptist, in the Tribune. It is the fashion at pre- 
sent to ascribe the four last works, and especially the 
Herodias, to Luini entirely. It appears to me that all of 
them have proceeded from the same mind ; and I think 
that a careful consideration of the Madonna of St. Onofrio, 
though it is confessedly one of Leonardo's least able works, 
will convince any one that they proceed from the same 
mind with it, as an inspection of the frescoes at the Brera, 
charmingly beautiful as they are, will prove that Luini' s 
imagination was not capable of holding converse with the 
morbidly profound and protracted reflection that is graven 
on the faces of all of those pictures. There is about them an 
elaboration, not of execution, but of intellectual prepara- 
tion which is characteristic of no man but Leonardo. The 
mental conception seems to have been baked to thorough 
dryness in the furnace of studious thoughts, before it came 
out to be clothed in forms and color upon the canvass. 

A work, acknowledged, I believe, to be entirely genuine. 



LEONARDO DA VINCI. 265 

is the head of Leonardo with a long beard, by himself, in 
the Uffizzi at Florence. For depth, softness and power, it 
is a miracle of art. It is a wonderfully great and majestic 
head; of calm features but with a pursuing power of glance 
altogether marvellous. It is like the portrait of a mind. 

The head of Medusa with Snakes, in the same collection, 
is too well known from BeckforcTs vivid description to 
need any notice here. The aspect and atmosphere of death, 
in the mouth and eyes are very powerful. This gallery has 
also a portrait by Leonardo, formerly supposed to be a 
Rafael, and an Adoration of the Magi in Chiaro-scuro, un- 
finished. These four appear to be entirely by Leonardo. 

Two works in the Louvre seem also to be wholly from his 
pencil. One of them (299) the portrait of woman, is a 
most remarkable picture. The face is serene and undis- 
turbed, yet strong as Fate : soft and unintense, yet in- 
evitable and irresistible. Its glance seems to follow you 
about the room like an embodied conscience. It gazes 
upon you in still, cold sovereignty, as if it possessed all 
the secrets of your soul, and was conscious of a moral 
sway not to be evaded. The general color is an olive- 
green ; and the light falls upon the side of the head and 
face with delicate and beautiful effect. A similar picture 
exists in the Palazzo Mozzi del Garbo, at Florence. Such 
a fund of expressiveness, in combination with quiet, un- 
moved features, none but Leonardo could accumulate in 
any countenance. 

The Madonna and Children in the Louvre, No. 296, is 
a lovely picture, probably altogether from his hand. The 
face of the Virgin, which is of transcendent sweetness 
and purity, and yet is calm in aspect, is a fine illustration 
of Leonardo's capacity to throw a powerful moral expres- 
sion into a countenance left in perfect repose. The pre- 
23 



266 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

vailing tints are brown; the Virgin's dress green. The 
light and shade about the limbs is very strongly marked. 

In the Ambrosian library at Milan there is a head of 
John the Baptist, exhibited as just cut off; ascribed to 
Leonardo. It is finely conceived and as finely executed; 
the eyes are half open, and the features not yet at all 
sunk. In the museum at Basle is another representation 
of the same subject, at a more advanced time; and as- 
signed also to Leonardo. It is of a greenish olive-white 
color, and is exquisitely delicate and beautiful. It bears 
so strong a resemblance to the portrait at Abbotsford of 
Mary, Queen of Scots, after decollation, in the manner in 
which the features are collapsed, and in the sickly softness 
of the expression, as to indicate that it had been painted 
from reality. The Ambrosian library contains also a large 
Holy Family, after a drawing by Leonardo; admirable in 
all respects ; also, a very good profile portrait by him of 
Beatrice d'Este, the wife of Ludovico il Moro, whose monu- 
ment may be seen at Certosa; and a most interesting profile 
head of Leonardo, in red chalk, by himself, with long, 
white hair and beard, large nose, small, delicate mouth, 
and an expression of great delicacy about the eyes. 

But the work upon which rests Leonardo's claim to take 
a place among the greatest painters of the world, in the 
same rank with Rafael and Correggio, is, of course, the 
Cenacolo, or Last Supper, a production which as repeated 
in engravings, and circulated throughout the world, is 
more extensively known and admired than any other great 
work of art. Fortunately, its essential excellencies have 
been perpetuated by the inspired burin of Morghen ; who 
conceived his subjects with the sensibility of an artist, 
and reproduced them with a spirituality and power that 
set the interpreter " on a level with the author/' His en- 
graving will to future times be the true original of this 



LEONARDO DA VINCI. 267 

matchless work. I shall offer no comment upon the work 
itself, but shall merely describe its position and present 
condition. 

It is painted upon the wall of the Refectory of the sup- 
pressed convent of Dominicans adjoining the church of 
Santa Maria delle Grazie, at Milan. The convent is now, 
(1851,) chiefly occupied as a caserne for the Austrian 
troops. Making my way into the interior of a large 
quadrangle, the court-yard of which was filled with the re- 
fuse of the stables, I entered the refectory. It is a long 
room, with a brick floor, a lofty ceiling, and side windows 
very high up. On the wall at one end, is a Crucifixion by 
Montorfano, and opposite to it, and pretty high up, is the 
Last Supper. It is painted, not in fresco, but in oils, and 
the figures are larger than life. It seems as if casualty and 
ignorance and imbecility had actively combined together 
for the extinction of this glory of art and religion. The 
situation of the room is low and damp; and it is subject 
to inundations. Twice has the picture been painted over, 
not by ordinary bunglers, against whose stupidity some 
rays of excellence might have struggled; but by caitiffs 
who seem to have been animated by the spirit of destruc- 
tion. A door was cut through the centre, which took 
away the feet of the Saviour, and a large part of the table- 
cloth. The room was used by the French, both as a barn 
and a stable. Even now it stands exposed to all the vicis- 
situdes of heat and cold, and dampness. A large piece has 
recently scaled off from the neck of the Saviour. Its over- 
throw is complete and irretrievable : yet from beneath the 
veil of ruin still gleams the lustre of a divineness of beauty 
and majesty which " cannot, but by annihilation, die." 
There yet lingers around this robbed and violated shrine 
of genius, an interest and impressiveness which enchain 
the observer's mind. The composition may still be ad- 



268 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

mired in all its force and perfection; and in distribution 
and variety, action and significance — for the union of indi- 
viduality with harmony — it cannot be exceeded. The 
principles upon which composition may be made to depend, 
are various ; and the key to the quality by which the com- 
position is produced will commonly be found in the faculty, 
or talent, for which the artist is most eminent. Leonardo's 
favorite contemplation was of the effect of the passions 
upon the face and frame, in diversified characters; in this 
instance, the arrangement and attitudes of the group are 
entirely worked out by the play of the moral feelings. 

Of the figures, none retains any really effective power, 
excepting the head of the Saviour. In spite of all that 
fatality and folly have done to dim and defeature it, the 
essential divinity which once was impressed upon it, still 
shines forth with obscured but unextinguishable grandeur. 
Mild, sad majesty, — sorrow sharp as the blade of death, 
and the grace of a spiritual sweetness which the treason of 
friends and the triumph of enemies disturbs not, but 
deepens, — are stamped in glorious power upon this match- 
less face. The flowing hair, the bowing head, the sub- 
mitting expostulation of the hands, form certainly the 
worthiest image of the Blessed Saviour that ever came 
from mortal thought. In the moment in which his hu- 
manity is so potently signalized by the gloom that fills his 
soul and bends his venerable form, his divinity is revealed 
the more earnestly in the abstraction and inwardness of 
musing that separates him mysteriously from his followers. 
Shrouded in the mist of long decay, the dulled lustre of 
that heavenly form — yet has a power to dazzle and rebuke. 
The fable that Leonardo left the head of the Saviour un- 
finished, and that it was completed by some meaner hand, 
is one of those foolish idle figments which a certain class of 
minds delight to repeat. 



FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 269 

As the colors now are, the figure of the Saviour is ar- 
rayed in a scarlet tunic, with a blue robe over the left 
shoulder and arm. The left hand has been badly painted 
over, and the right hand is much gone. In the face of St. 
John, though the outline has almost completely vanished, 
there lingers still some faint vestiges of an expression that 
was put there by Leonardo. In like manner, the face of 
St. James the Greater, whose mouth is opened, and his 
arms stretched out, aghast, bears decideclly his mark. St. 
Thomas has been painted over and changed. St. Philip 
has been painted black, and is the most ruined head of all. 
St. Matthew is also depraved. St. Thaddeus retains some 
expression; though nearly white. St. Simon's head is 
quite washed out of shape, by the damps ; and his hands 
are badly painted over. St. Bartholomew and St. James 
the Less are totally altered. St. Andrew is one of the 
freshest and brightest figures ; but I imagine it to be to- 
tally changed from its original condition. St. Peter's face 
is quite good; and Judas has an expression of much cha- 
racter. To show how much the painting is obliterated, it 
is quite impossible to make out the salt-cellar under Judas' 
hand, which is in the engraving. The effect of the light 
behind the blue hills in the distance, remains good. 



FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 

In the first order of great names in painting — high 
among those who have bequeathed to Art an impulse and 
an impress which it yet retains — should be reckoned Baccio 
della Porta, known to fame under his monastic title of 
Fra Bartolommeo. After Leonardo, perhaps no one of 
that time did more than this extraordinary person to ma- 

23* 



270 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

ture the current language of Art, to give fluency to the 
expressive forms of the canvass — to enrich with new idi- 
oms and a colloquial facility, the speech of the pencil — to 
accomplish forever the transition from the archaic and in- 
dividual types of earlier laborers to that well-developed 
freedom, ease and grace which, since then, have been the 
common heritage of the studio. Rafael improved into 
surpassing brilliance and power, notions which he caught 
from others, but Ijeonardo and Fra Bartolommeo increased 
the practical elements of Art ; extended the manner of re- 
presentation, and enlarged the painter's stock of concep- 
tions. Bartolommeo is the most spiritual of perfect art- 
ists ; but he represents spirituality, not in the metaphysi- 
cal, notional abstractness of Fra Beato, but as embodied in 
character and life. He does not paint spirituality as typi- 
fied in personal forms ; he paints persons as purified, re- 
fined and sanctified by spirituality. His heads are purely 
natural; a somewhat square type of skull, peculiar to 
himself. Like most Florentines, he exulted in drapery; 
but was sometimes tempted, by his mastery of it, into a 
profuse and cumbersome display of it. His manner, in 
this respect, forms a striking contrast to the scant pat- 
terns in which Perugino dresses his subjects. In some of 
his countenances we find an anxious, unhappy look, charac- 
teristic of the imagination of an ascetic and monastic re- 
cluse. He painted flesh with a clearness, transparency and 
refinement that seems worthy to render it a meet taberna- 
cle for the souls of saints. As a colorist, he attained 
incomparable softness and brilliancy, in a mellow and 
juicy style ; and is particularly marked by a light, fleecy 
tomato tone, which predominates in many of his works. 
In descending from his elevations into heaven, he might 
be thought to have dipped his pencil in the tints of the 
rosy clouds that float at sunset beneath an Italian sky. 



FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 271 

Yet he never attained the solidity, truth, or perfect har- 
mony of the Venetian people ; but, to the last, had some- 
thing of the thinness and flare of the Florentine coloring. 
He improved, by prodigious strides, as he grew older ; 
and the works painted in 1515 and 1516, but one and 
two years before his death, indicate that, had his life been 
spared, he would have soared to an excellence that would 
have made him supreme among the highest. These later 
efforts are on a large, full scale, and have an apocalyptic 
sublimity and splendor that place them almost alone in 
painting. 

Florence contains, perhaps, the largest number of his 
pictures ; but not his latest and most important. One of 
the most noted in the Pitti gallery, is the St. Mark, seated 
in a tribune-like chair, holding the volume of his gospel, 
and a pen, and musing with intense awe upon the subject 
of his record. (No. 125.) It is a grand figure. The dra- 
pery is majestic and graceful; yet so much in excess as 
to appear embarrassing and uncomfortable. The face has a 
disturbed, uneasy, half-crazy expression. In the Palace of 
the Quirinal, at Rome, are figures of St. Peter and St. 
Paul, intended to correspond with the St. Mark. One of 
them, left unfinished by the Fra, was completed by Rafael. 
Another work in the Pitti, (No. 159,) represents the Saviour 
risen out of the tomb, and four Apostles standing around. 
It is a good picture; of that class so often painted by Pe- 
rugino and other early masters ; not displaying an actual 
scene, and therefore not calling for a consistent composi- 
tion, but being merely suggestive of certain sentiments and 
doctrines. There is a Piete in the same collection, (No. 
84,) the coloring of which is very brilliant, but somewhat 
inharmonious. The face of St. John is an instance of ex- 
pression going beyond nature and propriety. An Ecce 
Homo, in fresco, (No. 377,) is more successful. The face 



272 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 



is of high and heavenly beauty ; and the mind that illu 
mines it is truly divine. The convent and church of San 
Marco, of which this artist was an inmate, contain but two 
of his works, and they are not valuable. One, in the 
church, is a picture of some size, representing the Virgin 
and Saints, which has grown very dark; another, in one 
of the passages, is a group of three figures, Christ and the 
Disciples at Emmaus. 

As a painter of the Holy Family, he established an ap- 
propriate sentiment and style of treatment which Rafael 
adopted from him, and which Andrea del Sarto and many 
other artists afterwards worked with unexhausting copious- 
ness. Of this class, is No. 243, in the Pitti, the best spe- 
cimen of the artist in that gallery. In the centre is the 
mother, with the two infants, who are occupied with one 
another. On one side is the withered face of Elizabeth, 
and on the other is St. Joseph, leaning on a sack. The 
coloring, though brilliant, is harmonious. There is a great 
deal in this picture that is like Rafael. The Virgin is very 
much his type of face. It is not easy to determine which 
artist borrowed from the other. It is probable that Bar- 
tolommeo caught from Rafael many hints for the beauty of 
his countenances; but that he instituted this character for 
St. Joseph, as looking on the scene in quiet contemplation, 
and perhaps also the face of Elizabeth, and that Rafael 
then took from his friend the conception of this whole com- 
position. 

Another very fine Holy Family, or Repose in Egypt, by 
Bartolommeo, is in the Tosi Gallery in Brescia. The mo- 
ther kneels before the infant with her arms folded on her 
breast ; and St. Joseph sits looking upon him. The face 
has the beauty, purity, and heavenly loveliness of Rafael, 
but the features are of a more natural cast. The face of 
Joseph is the original of all of Del Sarto's Josephs, and 






FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 273 

may be traced again in Correggio's Repose in the Tribune, 
and in many other artists. The color is very high, but of 
exquisite softness and airiness. The light falls charmingly 
over and through the limbs. 

The first specimen by which I became acquainted with 
the Fra Bartoloninieo, was the Holy Family in the G-ros- 
venor Gallery, at London ; (No. 46 of the catalogue j) and 
it struck me more than any thing in that fine collection. 
The outlines are hard, and the coloring bloodless : but the 
spiritual halo that breathes from the faces, the ethereal ex- 
pression that lights them up, the infinite purity that seems 
to transfigure them from creatures of mortality to beings 
above the world, are extremely engaging. The calm, 
j thoughtful, pallid face of Joseph, on the left, wrapt by 
i worship into a mental fruition of divine happiness, seems 
1 purged of all the dross of humanity, and just ready to be 
i translated into heaven. The hand of the Virgin, on the 
i right, seems to illustrate St. Paul's conception of a " spi- 
( ritual body." It is a human member, transfused with 
spirituality. The picture, in many respects, recalls Rafael, 
| and, if it be an early work, as, from the low tones of the 
colouring, seems probable, it shows how much Rafael had 
; caught from him. 

To appreciate the splendid genius and potent art of Fra 

I Bartolommeo, it is as necessary to visit Lucca as to know the 

. grandeur of Correggio it is indispensable to go to Parma. 

I Lucca contains three of the best works of the inspired 

monk, among which is his master-piece, the Madonna 

j della Misericorda. The cathedral has one of them. The 

) Virgin, with a tunic of blue around her, is seated upon a 

j throne, with the infant. On one side stands St. Stephen, 

•in a full, rich, cherry-colored dress, with a countenance of 

charming goodness. On the other is St. John Baptist, 

wrapped in a wild skin ; emaciated, yet with a countenance 



274 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

of the most essential purity and sweetness. An angel, in 
the form of a "bright, natural, delicious boy, is seated in 
front, playing upon a lute. Above the Virgin, two an- 
gels, finely foreshortened, and flying freely, are putting a 
crown upon her head. 

The Church of San Romano contains the other two. 
One of them, which hangs on the left wall of the body of 
the church, near the door of entrance, represents the Mag- 
dalen and Saint Catharine of Siena, kneeling at the oppo- 
site ends of an open tomb, and, above them, the Father, 
who is seated, and holds an expanded book, on which are 
the letters Alpha and Omega. The head and figure of the 
Magdalen are exquisite. Her face has the calm, clear, 
loveable beauty of a nature redeemed back to its unfallen 
integrity. A light, airy veil hanging down from the back 
of her head, mingles with her soft ringlets to produce a 
rich and sweet effect. The arrangement of her drapery is 
original and elegant : the tunic, of which the breast and 
arms alone are seen, is of cherry color; and she holds up, 
with one arm, against her person, a darker robe, that covers 
the rest of her figure. St. Catharine, in a nun's dress, is 
gazing up at the Lord with all the ecstasy of an enthusiast. 
The Father is exhibited as throned upon the cherubim of 
heaven. His foot rests upon the head of a cherub; and, 
beneath him, in the skirts of his drapery, are other che- 
rubs' heads, supporting him. Four angels fly below him, 
two on either side, with variously colored wings. The 
flesh tints of their bodies are extremely soft and natural ; 
and delicate lights and shades fall among the limbs. The 
least excellent part of the work is the head of God the 
Father, which is solid and material. The picture bears the 
date 1509. 

Superior as it is, it is yet far below the grand Madonna 
della Misericordia, which hangs in a chapel at the north- 



FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 2 i 

east angle of the same church, which is not only incompa- 
rably the finest work of this artist, but deserves, along 
with the Assumption of Titian and the San Sisto Madonna 
of Rafael, to rank among the great pictures of the world. 
In composition, color, drawing and chiaro-scuro ; in spi- 
rituality of character, and beautiful unity of effect, it is 
one of the most powerful and brilliant works I have ever 
seen. 

In the lower part of the picture appears a crowd of per- 
sons of all ages, ranks and sexes ; women, monks, children, 
princes ; bending and kneeling in animated supplication. 
On a throne, in the centre, which is raised by several steps, 
stands forth the lofty, radiant form of the Virgin. Her 
attitude is that of intercession, mediation, or intervention 
with power. Her right arm and hand are stretched out 
to stay and put back the wrath of God; her left drawn 
back and extended below, as if to explain her arresting act, 
by an intreaty in behalf of the multitude at her feet. She 
is arrayed in a tunic of a light lake color ; the drapery of 
which has all the ease, grace, simplicity and elegance of 
Rafael. Her blue robe is raised entirely off from her 
figure ; a part of it covering her head only, and the rest 
held up behind her by two angels, whose heads, wings and 
arms appear above. Above, at the top, the Saviour ap- 
pears, looking down in compassion; his extended arms 
finely thrown out by a scarlet drapery, which is stretched 
out like wings on each side of him. The lower part of 
his figure is cut off or concealed by a tablet, on which is 

Misereor Sup- 
Turbam : 

Through the tablet run ribands, which are held up by two 
full length angels flying freely in the air ; and under it is a 
soft, sweet head of an angel who holds up one hand against 



276 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

it. The whole upper part of the picture is blazing with all 
the terror of the Glory of Heaven j a terror, of which, over- 
powering beauty is the mightiest element. The back- 
ground of the heavens above the Virgin's robe is very 
bright; but with a great variety of delicately blending 
light and shade, which gives it an appearance of flashing, 
and makes you feel as if, each moment, the full unmiti- 
gated blaze of heaven would burst out in flame through 
the clouds. You see light behind shade, shade behind 
light, producing the effect of a succession of bright vapors 
rolling among themselves, and giving glimpses into the 
endless depths of the holy abodes. At the same time, 
there is no glare or dazzle ; all is soft, cool and agreeable 
to the eye. The heads of the five angels are wholly differ- 
ent from one another, and all are admirable. The chiaro 
scuro by which the two full length ones who, in attendance 
upon the Saviour, fly the highest and hold the strings of 
the tablet, are relieved against the luminous air behind 
them, is not exceeded by anything in Correggio. The up- 
permost of them, on the right of the Saviour is looking 
down with an expression of keen sensibility and infinite 
love, — pure and burning 5 the one on the other side has a 
countenance of great power, made intense by a brooding 
consciousness of the majesty and awe of the God he adores. 
They seem to typify, severally, the seraphic and cherubic 
character. Their wings are blue, relieved with white and 
grey. The head directly under the tablet is like a lovely 
heaven-born babe-angel. Of the two whose heads and 
arms are seen upholding the robe of the Virgin, the one 
on her right is like a glowing boy. The other is the most 
glorious head in the picture j an intense face, with short 
hair, disheveled in a Rafaelesque way, and with a stream 
of rich lustre setting him on fire with splendor. His 
wings, and those of his fellow, are red, shaded with dark 



FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 277 

and grey ; much the same as with the angels at the bot- 
tom of the San Sisto Madonna. This rush of heaven- 
attended deity, this incession of light-raying godhead, in 
the upper part of the composition, is one of the most 
powerful and beautiful effects in the pictorial art. 

Behind, and on each side of the Virgin's throne, the 
company of worshippers present a variety of heads, alti- 
tudes and dresses, altogether astonishing. The piqture is 
said to contain, in all, forty-four figures; and though they 
are so numerous, there is no sense of crowding or con- 
fusion. This arises in part from the steps directly in front 
of the throne being clear. /The beauty, expression, nature 
and interest of the faces could not be exceeded. The action 
of the whole group is most animated and varied. Some of 
them are occupied with one another j some with the Virgin; 
some are overwhelmed with adoration; some are gazing 
with astonishment. Family parties express their mutual 
delighted affection. In the fore-ground, to the left of the 
Virgin, is an exquisite group, consisting of a young mother 
in a light green dress, with a countenance full of happy 
passion, who holds a noble infant in her arms, while a 
child a little older clasping her back with both, his arms 
looks over her shoulder, and an old woman behind them, 
probably the grandmother, with wrinkled but good face, 
and with a mantle of lighter green enveloping her head, 
places her arm tenderly around them all. Just below, on 
the extreme left, is a man of rank, in a scarlet mantle, on 
whose shoulder a monk in a white dress rests one hand, 
while with the other he directs the devout and kneeling 
noble to the Virgin. A Magdalen-like form is kneeling in 
front of them ; and above the monk is a girl with an exqui- 
site oval face, equal to any one of Leonardo's women, whose 
youthful bloom is finely contrasted with a grand old head 
a little higher. On the right of the Virgin, in front, a 
24 



278 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

female, in a very light dress, of which the body and skirt 
have a faint chocolate tinge, and the sleeves are between a 
yellow and lake color, kneels towards the Virgin, support- 
ing a child who sits on the step, in a graceful infantile 
attitude, with one finger to his mouth. Behind her, are 
two sweet young people, a girl and boy; a man with a 
head nearly bald ; an old woman with a mantle of the 
faintest green; above them, one man with naked shoul- 
ders and back, devoutly adoring; another in a rich scarlet 
dress; and sundry other clear and finely discriminated 
heads. Several of the figures are members of the family 
for whom the work was painted. 

A fine effect is produced by the return to strong lights 
in the bottom of the picture, occasioned by the high color 
of the steps, and the brightness of the greenish and yel- 
lowish dresses of the women upon them. This brings out 
a balance and counterpoise to the powerful light above. It 
is the most luminous picture I have ever seen, except the 
San Sisto, and it has more variety of light than that. As 
a study of coloring, it is incomparable. The tones are 
firm, clear and natural; free from that fleecy, or woolly 
character seen in the Frate's earlier works; and displaying 
the soft, transparent brilliancy which Andrea del Sarto 
afterwards attained. There is a good deal that is like 
Titian, both in the coloring and in some of the heads. If 
this work was painted before Titian's Assumption, and 
Rafael's Dresden Madonna, as seems to have been the case, 
it may claim the praise of having furnished important 
suggestions to both of those great productions. It is 
scarcely possible to doubt either that the Roman and Vene- 
tian artist before painting those works had seen this pic- 
ture, or that the Fra had seen theirs. The priority seems 
to be with the pious Florentine. And if that be so, Titian 
derived his Virgin of the Assumption from this one. The 



,FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 279 

attitude, countenance and color are similar. But this is all 
purity, grace, and refined emotion: in that everything is 
corporeal and palpable. 

On the base on which the Virgin stands is inscribed : 

mrTpietatis et mie 

F. S. V 0. P. 

And on the lower step in smaller letters is 

MDXV. 

F. BARTHOLOMEVS OR. PRE. 

PICTOR FLORENTINVS. 

Though three centuries have swept over it, the dews of 
its first creation are yet fresh and splendid upon it. It 
looks as if its power defied time and triumphed over acci- 
dent. It has been varnished, but not retouched; and is 
in perfect preservation in every particular. 

Of the same class, and probably of the same period, is 
the Assumption of the Virgin in the Museo Borbonico at 
Naples; No. 373; over the door. Its authenticity cannot 
with any plausibility be questioned; for if it be not the 
Fra's, no artist can be named by whom it could possibly 
have been executed. In the figure of the Virgin he has 
sacrificed grace and ease to a bold expression of spiritual 
feeling. The attitude is so peculiar, that if the purpose is 
not clearly understood, it would be supposed to be ill- 
drawn. But for significance and beauty, it is a glorious 
work. The Virgin, throned on the clouds, is just throw- 
ing herself into an adoring, half-kneeling posture. Her 
hands are expanded in prayer; her face is melting in a 
worshipping fruition of the rapturous godhead, into which 
she is becoming absorbed. The invisible deity approaching 
from above, seems to sublimate her translated being into 
the glory of a higher essence. Her dress is that plain attire 
in which we may suppose her to have been buried. She 



280 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

has a tunic of a lakish hue, the sleeves of which are turned 
up at the wrists; and a dark-blue mantle which is thrown 
around and behind her in such a way as to form a dusky back 
ground for her figure. The face and attitude are full of a 
deep, beatified emotion of womanhood kindled into divinity. 
On her right is an infant angel with green wings, flying 
clear, and playing upon a violin. On the other side, nearer 
to her, is another angel, playing on a guitar, and having red 
and green wings, exactly like those of one of the boys in the 
San Sisto Madonna. One angelic head is below the Virgin, 
pulling her dress, one is directly under her feet, sustaining 
her; sundry little heads are in the clouds. All of these 
are the most airy and delicate in execution, realizing the 
conception of heavenly substances. The angels playing, 
and especially the one with the violin, which for drawing, 
and softness of flesh coloring is not exceeded by anything 
in art, have their hair disordered just in the way that 
Rafael adopted in his Christ and Angels, at Dresden, and 
in his Christ in the Transfiguration. It is obvious that 
one of these great masters derived much from the other. 
There are whitish-grey clouds under the figure of the 
Virgin, and a strong, yellow light behind and above her. 
The richness, delicacy, variety, and ethereal play of lights 
in this part of the picture are enchanting. A stream of 
glory is sweeping down, enveloping all the figures in a 
splendor that is born only of the presence of the Omnipo- 
tent. On the earth, is the empty tomb, with flowers upon 
it. On one side is St. John kneeling and pointing up- 
wards; his face, full of thought and holy feeling, being 
turned towards the spectator. On the other, a female saint 
with a palm, kneeling, displays a countenance full of beauty 
and devout expression. Her dress consists of a green body, 
yellow sleeves and reddish skirts. Beyond the saints, the 
clear definite horizon sky of the common day contrasts 



FRA BARTOLOMMEO. 281 

finely with the fleecy glory of the heavens that surround 
the Virgin. The painting, though full of delicious softness, 
has a greater firmness of tone than is usual with the Frate. 

The Presentation in the Temple, in the Belvidere at 
Vienna, Chambre 4, No. 29, is of the year 1516. It is a 
most remarkable picture; one blaze of red. Rubens is 
said to have found in this work a model for that effulgence 
of tints which he poured with such power over the can- 
vass. 

In the following year, at the age of 48, this profound 
genius was snatched away, not in the perfection, but amid 
the rapid and copious development of his admirable powers. 
One of his latest works, which he did not finish, is a large 
picture in Chiaro-scuro in the Uffizzi gallery, in which the 
Patron Saints of Florence are introduced. The Madonna, 
with the infant, is seated on the throne, and angels are 
around and beneath her. Behind and above is St. Anna 
with arms stretched out to Heaven. Still higher, is a 
singular head, intended to represent the Trinity; having 
three profiles of nose and mouth, and one pair of eyes. 
Saints and saintesses are at the sides. The composition is 
extremely grand and rich ; and for drawing and expression, 
it is one of his best. But many of the faces have that 
unhappy look which has already been noted as observable 
in his pictures. 

The relations of Rafael's mind to that of Fra Barto- 
lommeo, form a subject of interesting inquiry. It is to be 
regretted that the Italian writers upon Art have not taken 
more pains to fix, with precision, (from the evidence of 
documents,) the dates of the principal works of the most 
eminent painters ; not only for the purpose of showing the 
course of the development of the genius of the person con- 
cerned, but to determine how far he gave or received influ- 
ence as respects his contemporaries. The Frate was born 

24* 



282 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

in 1469, fourteen years before Rafael, and died in 1517, 
three years before him ; being at the time of his death 48 
years old. It cannot be doubted that in passing from the 
statuesque rigidness of Perugino's manner, to nature and 
that angelic grace, variety and freedom which his mature 
j^ears display, Rafael derived many an inspiration from the 
breathing softness of Bartolommeo. It seems equally evi- 
dent that in the Frate's later works, the strenuous firm- 
ness and full-toned strength of the Roman had re-acted 
upon his genius with a greater return than it had received. 
In the Misericordia Madonna, there is much that is Ra- 
faelesque, particularly in the higher severity and force than 
belongs to his earlier pictures. The head of the cherub 
who holds the Virgin's robe, on her right, is very much 
one of Rafael's boys. The date of the Fuligno Madonna, 
1512, where one of these glorious heads appears in the 
angel holding the tablet, must assure to Rafael the praise 
of controlling the peculiar direction of Bartolommeo's later 
genius. The working out of the idea of the glorified Ma- 
donna by the concurring minds of these two artists, sup- 
plies an interesting study. Rafael established the type in 
the Fuligno Madonna. The Frate expanded and elevated 
and enriched it prodigiously on the Lucca Misericordia and 
the Naples Assumption : and so gave it back to its author, 
who, profiting of all that his friendly rival had added, car- 
ried it to transcendent perfection in the San Sisto. I have 
said nothing of the Madonna del Baldacchino in the Pitti, 
which was formerly ascribed to the Frate; but which of 
late years has been attributed to Rafael, and is now often 
referred to as an instance of his indebtedness to the Floren- 
tine. For my own part, I can see nothing of Rafael in 
that picture. I should take it to be the work of RafFaellino 
del Garbo. I think it necessary only to look at a Madonna 
and two children by that painter, in the Corsini palace at 



PERUGINO. 283 

Florence, or to a Madonna by him in the south transept of 
the church of San Spirito in that city, to arrive at that 
conclusion. The latter exhibits the Madonna between two 
saints, seated, and in front St. Benedict and St. John ; and 
as an evidence of the resemblance of the styles of the two 
painters, the three first figures are ascribed to Rafael by 
the ecclesiastics of the church, and the two last to Del 
Garbo. No doubt the whole is by him. In this picture, 
also, are two angels sustaining a kind of Baldacchino dra- 
pery over her head. 



PERUGINO. 



In the centre of the fine apartment which constitutes the 
Libreria of the Cathedral of Siena, stands an antique mar- 
ble group of the Graces, one of the most beautiful remains 
of classic sculpture. According to the Guide-books it was 
discovered in digging the foundations of the building in 
the thirteenth century. It is entitled to occupy an im- 
portant position in the history of Italian painting, for there 
is little doubt that it supplied the original of that memora- 
ble type of the human figure which, developed in great 
power by Pietro Perugino, became the characteristic of his 
whole school, defined and occupied the youthful genius of 
Rafael, and may be considered as the embryo form of even 
his latest and most exalted creations. In viewing the 
works of Perugino, Rafael, and their school, what strikes 
you most as the characteristic distinction between them, 
generally, and the Florentines is, that the figures of the 
former are founded on the type of Greek sculpture, while 
the latter seem derived from nature. The draperies also 
follow this distinction : those of the Perugian being simple 



284 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

and severe, those of the Florentine, as in Fra Bartolommeo 
and Michael Angelo, being very profuse and folded. I 
attribute to this group of the Graces the first suggestion 
of that type, because at the time it was adopted by Bon- 
figli^and Perugino, it was almost the only ancient statue 
known. No Greek work had been seen at that time in 
Florence ; and the Apollo, and other great works at Rome, 
were not found till after the beginning of the sixteenth 
century. The fresh character of this group in the school of 
Perugino, is indicated by Rafael's having made a drawing 
of it, which is said to exist at Venice. 

Giotto's style constitutes, as it were, the reservoir from 
which, through various channels, were led the rivulets that 
fed the Perugian, Florentian and Venitian schools. The 
derivation of the first of these may be satisfactorily traced; 
and no where so clearly as upon the walls of the church of 
San Francisco at Assisi. The lower church there has four 
curious works by Giotto : and not far from them is the 
very striking Crucifixion by Pietro Cavallini, the pupil of 
Giotto, who worked between the years 
It is a work of great energy. The white figures of Christ 
and the thieves against a blue back ground, have a power- 
ful effect. The arms of the thieves are twisted back over 
their crosses. Above, are a number of angels, wringing 
their hands, and expressing the utmost degree of anguish. 
It is easy to see in the faces, here, the beginning of the 
Perugino type. The work seems to form one of the links 
between Giotto and Perugino. Another link is supplied 
in the several frescoes by Matteo da Gualdo and Pietro 
Antonio di Foligno in the small chapel of Santa Caterina 
in Assisi, where a fuller dawn of the Peruginesque cha- 
racter may confidently be traced. But a more decided 
development of the same conception is to be seen in 
Bonfigli, the master of Perugino. His authentic works 



PERUGINO. 285 

are rare; the adoration on S. Dominico at Perugia being 
more probably attributable to Gentile da Fabriano. In the 
Academy connected with the University of Perugia, there 
is a picture by Bonfigli, but so much scaled off as to be of 
no value. The church of San Pietro de Casinensi in that 
city, has a Pi eta by him, with the date 1468. The 
mother holds the dead Saviour on her knee, and embraces 
him. Her figure, though ill-drawn, is wonderfully full of 
earnest and intense affection ; his figure is very hard and 
awkward. But very far superior to this, and probably the 
best preserved and most characteristic work of his in exist- 
ence, is the Annunciation, which hangs in the shop of Bar- 
telli, the bookseller at Perugia. Opposite to the Virgin, who 
kneels on a low bench, stands the announcing angel with 
his finger raised, apparently just stopped from his swiftly- 
descending flight. Between them, St. Luke, with his bull, 
is seated on the ground, recording the event in a book. 
His head is a noble one. Over the apartment in which 
this scene takes place, in the sky is seen God the Father 
attended by angels. The white Dove has descended from 
him on a long line of light to the Virgin. So that the 
conception is represented as following instant upon the 
annunciation ; the word of the Lord being ever itself the 
act. The same fine thought is found in Pinturicchio's 
treatment of the same subject at Spello; and is usual in 
the works of the early Rhenish and Flemish schools. In 
fact, in the earliest Byzantine iconographies this method 
of representation is prescribed. In the Guide de la Pien- 
ture, translated by Didron, Part 2d, page 155, this mode 
of figuring the scene will be found. The most note-worthy 
circumstance about this picture is, that the head of the 
angel making the annunciation, is purely Grecian; the 
forehead even having that little prominence over the nose 
which is seen in the Greek heads of gods and goddesses. 



286 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 



It is obvious, therefore, that the type of Greek sculpture 
had been adopted by this school, not only long before 
Rafael, but even earlier than Perugino, who developed and 
strengthened it. The Virgin, in Bonfigli's picture, is a 
beautiful face, but of a more natural and human cast. 

But the great founder and master of this school, is 
Pietro Vannucci known by the name of Perugino, who was 
born 37 years before Rafael, and survived him four years, 
having died at the age of 78. He forms an extraordinary 
figure in the history of Art. His range was limited, his 
manner uniform ; but the force and truth of the ideal which 
he bequeathed to Art, have never been exceeded. No man 
ever lived whose peculiar mental conception predominated, 
one might almost say, despotized over succeeding minds so 
strongly and extensively. A considerable school, com- 
posed of Grannuola, Lo Spagno, &c, sustained itself almost 
wholly by the repetition of this image. Pinturicchio drew 
all his inspiration from it. The two Francias — Francesco 
and Griacomo- — worked it under certain modifications which 
brought it nearer to nature, and made it a vehicle for the 
expression of pure human affection. Rafael, for several 
years, did nothing but reproduce it, with some increased 
freedom and ease ; afterwards he elevated and strengthened 
it by renewed inspirations from the source whence it was 
drawn; but even his last and brightest forms seem but 
flowers, of which the buds are in Perugino. It was again 
used by his followers, Raffaellino del Grarbo, &c. : and if 
at last it broke down, and degenerated into a cold, metallic 
hardness and insipidity, what type had ever endured such 
repetitions ? Even in this day, when the reviving religion 
of Art seeks an appropriate medium for its earnest appre- 
hensions, Perugino supplies the vehicle : and the pictures 
of Overbeck at Rome are nothing but revivals of Perugino 
and the early manner of Rafael. The reason of the won- 



•e 



PERUGINO. 287 

derful continuance and depth of this form is, that it em- 
bodies the essential truth and nature of the human face and 
form as they are abstracted in Greek sculpture ; and hence 
these heads and countenances have a universality that ex- 
ceeds all other schools. The ideal of Bellini, Giorgione 
Titian and Veronese has something Venitian in it : Leo- 
nardo's faces are decidedly Italian and Florentine : the 
features in Van Eyck, Durer and Holbein have a heavy 
German look; but the type of the Perugian and Roman 
schools, is free from every peculiarity of locality, nation or 
race, and represents the high, permanent, universal image 
of humanity. 

The forms of Perugino, as I have said, are derived from 
sculpture ; and it might not be fanciful to say that we see 
in them that easy, indolent, reposing grace which charac- 
terizes the group in the Libreria at Siena. The drawing 
has great simplicity of outline, with distinctness, force and 
truth, but sometimes becomes dry and hard. The drape- 
ries are particularly severe. The inward and moral cha- 
racteristic of the school which determines its especial place 
and value, is the expression of transcendent purity, sancti- 
ty and sweetness in the faces, — a certain quietism of wrapt, 
calm, meditative adoration. This mystic expression seems 
to have been the matter upon which Perugino principally 
relied. His compositions do not involve much that is 
natural and dramatic, but form a collection of faces, each 
typifying some refined and holy sentiment. One of the 
best of these is a Deposition in the Hall of Jupiter in the 
Pitti Palace, which has many figures. The faces have 
much expression of feeling, but their features are scarcely 
disturbed from repose. Another of much celebrity is the 
Assumption, which is repeated, with some variations, in a 
chapel in the Annunziata at Florence, in the public gallery 
at Lyons, in the picture gallery at the Musee Bourbon in 



288 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

Naples, (No. 264,) and on the wall of the north transept 
of the Cathedral of St. Januarius ; in the last of which are 
introduced Cardinal Corafe, a great patron of the church, 
kneeling on the right, and behind him St. Januarius stand- 
ing with his mitre. In this picture, the Virgin [is ?] in 
the clouds in an oval, looking adoringly up, three angels' 
heads being around the clouds on which she stands. Four 
angels stand in a line, above, playing : and beside her are 
two angels playing. Below, in two groups, are the apos- 
tles; St. John, standing, or in some, kneeling, between 
them, and looking up. His face is of great beauty. Two 
of his best compositions are in the Sistine chapel, the Bap- 
tism of Christ, and the delivery of the keys to St. Peter. 

The sacristy of San Pietro de Casinensi in Perugia, con- 
tains a range of six heads by Perugino, framed and glazed. 
The faces of St. Maurus reading, and of Peter Abbot 
pointing to an open Bible which he holds in one hand, are 
exquisite productions, full of the deepest spiritual sensi- 
bility, and executed with the most careful and minute 
lines and shadings. They are written full with the moral 
history of the persons, showing years of lofty thought, 
deep feeling, and keen self-searching action of the in- 
ward soul. The sacristy of the church of Sta. Maria 
Nuova, in the same town, contains three exquisite little 
pictures by Perugino of the Annunciation, Nativity and 
Baptism, which have a resemblance to the pictures of the 
Annunciation, Adoration and Presentation by Rafael in 
the Vatican, which formed the predella of his picture of 
the Coronation of the Virgin, and may have been his 
model. The church of S. Agostino, in the same place, 
contains, opposite to one another, two altar-pieces by Peru- 
gino, which though probably the work of his declining 
years, are yet highly interesting. In one of them the 
Virgin and St. Joseph are seen adoring the infant, who lies 



PERUGINO. 289 

on the earth, and in the back ground at a distance, are 
two angels kneeling also in worship. It is in this manner 
that many of these early schools treat the Nativity. The 
purity, neatness and chaste beauty of this picture are ad- 
mirable. The face and figure of the Virgin are the perfec- 
tion of an innocent, spotless, and refined lady ; her dress in 
exquisitely simple taste. The head of St. Joseph is fine ; 
but one of his upraised hands has an appearance of being 
distorted, which produces an unpleasant appearance. In 
the opposite work, the figure of St. John, tall, thin and 
severe, but soft, and purged of drossy passion, and full of 
a high beauty, is an impressive type of the human charac- 
ter, cleansed and chastened by mortification and natural 
morality. 

In the Manfrini gallery at Venice are two excellent 
Peruginos. One is the Madonna, with the child, to whom 
an angel is showing a book ; another angel is behind. It 
is in his best and most luxuriant manner. The coloring 
is high and in finely blending tints. The faces are rich, 
beautiful and Rafael-like. All the persons have red hair. 
Another most interesting picture represents the Saviour 
washing the feet of the Disciples. The Lord, kneeling, is 
about to wash those of St. Peter, who gracefully, with ges- 
tures, deprecates such condescension. Christ points with his 
right hand to heaven, as if saying, " Thus it becomes us to 
fulfill all humility." The others stand in a row beside. The 
composition is formal, but it is as fine an assemblage of 
countenances as in any picture I know of. All are differ- 
ent, and all admirable. The light falls with a slight 
illumination on the head of each. The coloring is pure 
and good. It must be allowed that both of these works 
have something of the character of Jean Bellini. The 
last, moreover, has a variety and maturity of style which 
25 



290 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

renders it a little difficult to ascribe its authorship to Peru- 
gino. 

In the Stoedel Museum at Frankfort, there is a Madonna 
and child with St. John, a work of saintly beauty and 
purity. The mothers face is infinitely sweet, dignified 
and chaste. She has that fullness about the temples which 
Rafael afterwards worked out as a strong and marked 
characteristic of his female heads. She wears a red under- 
dress and a green robe over it. The horizon of the land- 
scape is brilliant. The color is high, but has been a good 
deal rubbed off in cleaning. There is a repetition of this 
at Munich, (Salle IX., No. 551.) In the Academy at 
Bologna, (No. 197,) there is an extremely brilliant and 
fine work by Perugino, of the Madonna, and four saints 
below her. The figure of St. John Baptist has scarcely 
ever been exceeded by Rafael. The Lichtenstein gallery 
at Vienna also contains a very superior Perugino ; in which 
an angel holds the infant Saviour, and the mother, with a 
countenance grave and even sad, kneels adoringly before 
her offspring. The infant looks up with child-like adora- 
tion to heaven, — an expression of enchanting interest. The 
drapery is rich and soft. On the ground in front and at 
the side, strawberries and some small white flowers are 
painted with exquisite minuteness and perfection ; which 
serves to show, as several other of his works might be 
cited to prove, that Rafael had derived through his master, 
this pleasing Florentine method of enriching his landscape. 
On a rock at the side is written, " P. Perusinus P." The 
third chambre of the Belvidere gallery, in the same city, 
contains two excellent works of the same master. No. 12 
representing the Madonna with the infant Saviour on her 
knees, and behind her two holy women, the one with her 
hands clasped, the other with a palm in her hand, has pro- 
bably been the model of the Francia at Munich, and in the 



PERUGINO. 291 

Esterhazy collection. The delicacy, the ethereal light that 
plays around the heads, the grace of feminine purity that 
glows in these wonderful faces, are inexhaustibly engaging. 
No. 43, the same subject, but having the Virgin seated on 
a throne, and surrounded by four saints, St. Peter and St. 
Jerome on the right, and St. Paul and St. John Baptist 
on the left, is a strong, well-colored, powerful picture, and 
of large size. It shows Perugino to have been capable of 
a richness and force equal to the purity of his other Ma- 
donnas. There is a Madonna and child by Perugino in 
the Louvre, (No. 388.) Her face is of consummate dignity 
and holiness ; of a rich expression, yet grave and elevated. 
Her dress is of a high color. There is a strong resemblance 
between the child and mother, which produces an agreeable 
effect. The National Gallery at London also claims to 
possess a Holy Family by this artist. The color has fled ; 
but the countenances are innocent and lovely ; not divine 
and spiritual, but earthly-pure and homely-good. Perugino 
is constantly recognized, and to many persons is chiefly 
known, by single figures of the Madonna and infant, or the 
same attended by two or four saints, which are to be found 
in almost every collection. Many of these are no doubt 
by his pupils. Giannicola, in particular, seems to have 
possessed the faculty of imitating his master with great 
fidelity. In the Academy at Perugia is a large Glory by 
this artist, consisting of a number of saints standing below, 
among them S. Sebastian, and above, Christ and the Vir- 
gin seated, and angels. At first sight any one would take 
it for Perugino ; though afterwards, a greater fineness and 
and a certain petitesse of forms, more than in Pietro may 
be seen. The figures are neat, clear and well defined. 
Probably Giannicola painted many of the Peruginos that go 
about Europe. As Perugino painted diligently through a 
long line, great inequality may be seen in his works. At one 



292 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

time he fell into a very highly colored manner, of which a 
flaming specimen may be seen in the Academy of Fine 
Arts in Florence. Latterly, his coloring grew thin, 
watery and pale. 

Nor does it appear that Rafael's genius reacted at all 
upon Perugino' s j or that Perugino imitated or derived any 
thing from him. On the contrary, at the period when 
Rafael's rich, brilliant manner was developing itself, Peru- 
gino was receding into an increased dryness, and just as 
Rafael was warming and bringing Perugino' s type into 
perfection, the original master himself was departing into 
a decided imitation of the Florentine school. Upon an in- 
quiry of this kind, no picture can be admitted in evidence 
which does not bear its date, or the date of which is not 
otherwise established by direct external evidence. In the 
Villa Albani, is a picture in three compartments for an 
altar ; representing the Nativity, or the Adoration of the 
newborn Infant by the Virgin, Joseph and angels. On 
the columns of the picture are the words, 

" Petrus de Perusia pinst. In XVIIII." 

Primo. 

It possesses high and characteristic beauty and loftiness; 
but so far from approaching Rafael's sensuousness, it has 
rather more dryness than is usual with Perugino. In the 
Palazzo Rinuccini in Florence, is an interesting picture of 
three saints in tribunes, on the bases of which are the 
names, S. Hieronymus, S. Marcus, S. Gerardus (?) ; and 
on the canvass is written apparently, or painted in imita- 
tion of writing, 



J 6> 



" Pietro Perugino 
pinst anno 15 12." 

It has very little resemblance in the faces or the coloring 



PERUGINO. 293 

to the ordinary manner of Perugino. Instead of his solid, 
heavy coloring, it is in the thin, watery style of the Flo- 
rentines. It must be observed also, that in the south 
transept of the church of San Spirito at Florence, is a fine 
picture representing God the Father, surrounded by an 
oval of cherub's heads, sustaining the Crucifix, St. Cathe- 
rine kneeling on one side, and a St. Mary on the other. 
It is a beautiful work , the head of St. Catharine, in par- 
ticular, is exquisite. The ecclesiastic who showed the 
church referred it to Perugino. It is so much wanting in 
the ordinary characteristics of his manner, that this is 
hardly likely to be a conjecture \ it probably rests upon 
tradition. But it has so much of the Florentine style of the 
Rinuccini Perugino, that,on the strength of that specimen 
it may be ascribed to his hand, at about the same period of 
1512. Not long after his powers began to decline. The 
Sebastian in the church of S. Francesco at Perugia, dated 
1518, is pale and weak. 

He appears to have been in the plenitude and perfection 
of his powers about the year 1493-94. He painted as 
late as 1521. The church of S. Maria Maggiore at 
Spello, has a Pieta and a Madonna with saints by him, on 
one of which is the inscription, " Petrus de Castr. Pleb. 
Pinsit. M. D. xxi." They are quite feeble. The figures 
by him in the chapel of the convent of San Severo, which 
have the same date, are utterly imbecile. 

Some, not a considerable portion of the fame of Rafael 
justly belongs to Perugino, who is entitled to take a higher 
rank among great artists than has usually been given to 
him. Rafael originated none of those forms of the Virgin 
and child with which his immortality is associated. He 
only added that nature and vitality to the forms of Peru- 
gino which were required to bring them to perfection. It 
was Perugino who created them, upon the hints of his pre- 

25* 



294 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

decessors, and he deserves a great snare of fame for found- 
ing and casting the type which Rafael afterwards polished 
into completeness. The expansion which this type under- 
went in the mind of Rafael, was in some degree natural in 
the progress of Art, under the influence then prevailing, 
of a tendency toward recurrence to nature, under the im- 
pulse of the newly discovered works of Greek statuary ; and 
it received concurrently a similar development in the works 
of Pinturicchio, Lo Spagno, I/Ingegno and Grannicola, 
who drew from Perugino, not from Rafael. But Perugino 
himself, in several of his works, brought his style to a 
pitch of force and perfection, which would not be credited 
by those who know him only through a few pale Madonnas 
in foreign galleries, the work of Jiis immature or his de- 
clining days. It has been the practice of the German 
critics who dogmatize upon conjecture, to say, whenever 
any superior touch of graceful nature is found in Perugino, 
that it is probably or clearly the work of Rafael. But upon 
a question whether a certain excellence was derived by 
Rafael from Perugino, or by Perugino from Rafael, the tra- 
dition which ascribes an entire picture to Perugino ought 
certainly to be followed, or we are wholly without any 
rational guidance. But the pretensions of Perugino are 
susceptible of proof by a reference to works which were 
painted by him before Rafael ever handled a pencil ; as all 
of Perugino' s greatest productions really were. 

The best easel picture by Perugino that I am acquaint- 
ed with, is in the church of St. Augustino at Cremona. It 
is of considerable size, and represents the Virgin seated 
with the child in her lap, St. James the Apostle on one 
side, and St. Augustine on the other. The child with his 
sweet face turns lovingly towards St. James. The Virgin 
is one of the finest female figures that painting can exhibit. 
In rich, free, natural, flowing grace, Rafael never excelled 



PERUGINO. 295 

this form, though he has often copied it. She wears skirts 
of blue, a red tunic, and a green robe over it ; and her pos- 
ture is one of matronly ease and dignity. Her face is of 
exquisite beauty, free from that puckered expression of 
the features which Perugino's women often have. Its 
character is delicate, neat, lovely. The heads of the saints 
are a little dry and pinched, though of great purity. I do 
not know that Rafael in his ordinary Madonnas ever went 
beyond the grade of intellectual merit which this picture 
indicates, though he adopted certain methods which height- 
ened the agreeable effect of his works and added to their 
popularity; for example, by throwing in a light or illumi- 
nated background. The coloring here is as rich as in the 
best of Rafael's Madonnas ; but the picture is wanting in 
light, and has, therefore, a heavy and gloomy look. That 
Rafael had no participation, either in the execution of this 
charming work or in supplying its model, appears from the 
inscription on the base of the Virgin's throne : 

Petrus Perusinus Pinxit 
MCCCCLXXXXIIII. 

It was painted when Rafael was eleven years old. 

But the scene upon which Perugino appears in the high- 
est power, and where he really displays the greatness of a 
master, is the Sola del Cambio at Perugia, a small apart- 
ment, of which the walls are painted by him in fresco. It 
is divided into two parts by an arch ; and on the pilaster 
beneath it, is cut the date 1493, which there is no reason 
to doubt is the true period of the execution of these works. 
Rafael at that time was ten years old. He did not come 
to Perugia till two years after. On the right hand wall 
are painted the prophets and sibyls, with the Almighty in 
a glory above. The prophets stand in order : Isaiah, 
Moses, Daniel, David, Jeremiah, and Solomon. The four 



296 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

last are admirable and grand figures. In head and form, 
the David is scarcely less than sublime. The drapery is 
free, rich, graceful, and finely colored. The Daniel, who 
is somewhat in the rear, behind the others, and whose face, 
with his upraised hand before his breast, alone is seen, is 
an extremely beautiful countenance. A little behind 
David, on the other side, is Jeremiah, whose pallid, 
thoughtful, worn face is full of character and interest. At 
the end of the line is Solomon, in whose features regal 
dignity, personal passion, and intellectual pride, are finely 
mingled. In a distinct group, on the other side of the 
prophets, are the sibyls, in the following order : the Eryth- 
raean, Persian, Cumaean, Libyan, Tiburtine, and Delphian. 
The finest is the Cumaean. The Tiburtine also is excel- 
lent. All of them carry scrolls. This fresco is clearly the 
capo oV opera of Perugino, who here displays a freedom, 
variety, and power, hardly below the level of single figures 
in Rafael's Uoman frescoes. 

On the other side of the wall, which the arch divides 
into two compartments, are representations of ancient 
heroes and philosophers. The compartment nearest the 
door of entrance contains standing figures in the following 
order : Fabius Maximus, Socrates, Numa Pompilius, Curius 
Camillus, Pittacus, and Trajan the Emperor; and; over 
them, figures of Prudence and Justice. The further com- 
partment has the following heroes standing in order : 
Quintius Licinius, Leonidas of Lacedaemon, Horatius 
Codes, Scipio, Pericles, and Q. Cincinnatus; and, above 
them, figures of Fortitude and Temperance. On the di- 
viding pilaster, under the date, is a portrait of Perugino, 
by himself; a very strong, clear, well-painted head. It 
may be observed that there is another portrait of Perugino, 
by himself, one of the most remarkable in the Uffizzi gal- 
lery at Florence ; hard, but very clear, and of astonishing 



PERUGINO. 297 

strength and expression; where he holds in his hand a 
scroll on which are the words, " Timete Deum." There is 
also in the Lichtenstein gallery at Vienna, a head of Peru- 
gino, by Rafael, of great hardness, and in a dress of bril- 
liant color. 

On the end wall of the Sala del Cambio, are two more 
frescoes by Perugino : one of them the Transfiguration ; 
the other the adoration of the infant Saviour by the Vir- 
gin, Joseph, shepherds, and angels. In the former, the 
figure of the Saviour is full of majesty and beauty; the 
head is particularly well drawn. The two prophets are 
kneeling beside him on clouds. On the mount lie the 
three apostles ; one of them with his arm raised up over 
his eyes, to shield them from the light, as in Rafael's 
Transfiguration. The whole work is able and brilliant. 
The Adoration is upon the level of Perugino' s best per- 
formances. 

On the front wall, at the side of the door, is the figure 
of Cato, by the hand of Perugino. Upon the [sides ?] are 
mythological subjects connected with astronomy. In the 
centre, is Apollo in his chariot; and over other parts are 
the seven planets, represented by human figures riding, 
&c. The entire distribution and decoration of this room 
are excellent. Perugino thus took the lead among the 
artists of that period, in representing the sibyls, in connec- 
tion with the prophets, as religious and inspired person- 
ages. Several years afterwards, in 1508, Michael Angelo 
adopted Perugino' s conception, representing the prophets 
and sibyls in company. Subsequently, Rafael painted 
four sibyls in the church of Santa Maria della Pace, in 
Rome, and furnished drawings for the figures of the pro- 
phets, which were executed by another hand ; and a few 
years later, I/Ingegno represented, also, four sibyls and 
four prophets with great beauty, in a chapel in the church 



298 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

of S. Francesco, at Assisi. Perugino also here led the way 
in that recurrence to classical and mythological subjects in 
which he was followed by Rafael and Giulio Romano. 
There seems to be no sufficient reason for ascribing any 
part of these frescoes to Rafael. The custode, however, 
assigned to Rafael the figure of Luna upon the ceiling, who 
is represented by a female driving in a chariot, with two 
other females running; on no other ground, apparently, 
than because they exhibit the rich, full grace and beauty 
for which Rafael several years later became distinguished. 
Even if we supposed that these frescoes were painted in 
1500, as has been assumed by some writers, we should find 
it impossible to attribute any of these figures, much less 
the best of them, to Rafael, whose powers at that date 
were by no means sufficiently developed to have painted 
with the force, freedom, and beauty here manifested. 
These works are decidedly beyond ' anything that Rafael 
produced until after 1505; as may be seen by his Corona- 
tion of the Virgin in the Vatican, 1503 ; the Spozalizia, in 
1504; the Last Supper, in S. Onofrio, at Florence; the 
Lunette, in S. Severo, at Perugia ; all of which bear the 
date 1505. 

Another evidenc3 that much of Rafael's excellence con- 
sisted in a natural development and perfecting of the vital 
type which was evolved in the school of Perugino, is found 
in the Rafaelesque elegance and grace attained by another 
of Perugino' s scholars, Pinturicchio, prior to the time 
when Rafael had expanded into excellence. A fine com- 
position by this artist is the Finding of the Cross, in the 
vault of the Tribune of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme ; of 
which the figures are full of that grace and dignity which 
we find in Rafael's Peruginesque forms. The colors are 
very high and fresh; not shading into one another, but 
each object having its own strong color clearly separated 



PERUGINO. 299 

from the others ; probably the result of a clumsy retouch- 
ing. This was executed (prior to 1495). In the collec- 
tion at the University of Perugia is a set of six pictures 
together, by Pinturicchio, which are altogether like the 
best of Perugino. On one panel is the angel making, and 
on another the Virgin receiving, the Annunciation, with a 
white dove coming to her from the window. The face of 
the Virgin is of the utmost loveliness and beauty. But 
incomparably the finest productions of Pinturicchio that I 
am acquainted with, are the three large frescoes on the 
walls of a chapel in the church of S. Maria Maggiore, in 
Spello, executed in 1501, when Rafael was but eighteen, 
and had done nothing that could have contributed to the 
character of this excellence. On one of the side walls is 
the Annunciation; the white dove, as before indicated, 
flying in towards the Virgin at the same time that the 
angel is announcing the condescension. On one side is a 
portrait of the painter, looking out of the window, and be- 
low it "Bernardinus Pictoricius Perusinus." Upon the 
end wall of the chapel, is the Adoration of the Infant by 
the Virgin, St. Joseph, and some shepherds ; the Magi ap- 
proaching in the distance. All these figures are admirably 

; painted, as regards nature, strength, and grace. The face 
of the Virgin is not exceeded^ if it be equalled, in beauty, 
expression, and loveliness, by anything in Rafael. The 
latter introduced an increased naturalness and actuality of 

| head ; but the type declined proportionably in spirituality 
of expression. The third fresco, on the remaining side of 

i the chapel, is Christ disputing with the Doctors ; and it is, 
perhaps, the best of all. The youthful Deity, a figure of 

| much sweetness and grace, is standing between learned 
sages on both sides of him ; some of whom are wondering, 
others listening, others pondering. At the side, Joseph 
and Mary, attended by some female figures, are coming in. 



300 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

The face, figure, and action of the mother are admirable. 
Her eyes are cast down, and her flushed face indicates a 
modest embarrassment and alarm at finding her son in so 
conspicuous a position ; something of a fear lest he may 
expose himself. She has caught the belt of Joseph's robe, 
who is in front of her. Altogether, it is a composition of 
the highest richness, variety, and power. It is interesting 
to trace the progressive development in the several heads 
of the Virgin. The first, which is the Annunciation, is of 
faultless beauty, but calm, and not much disturbed from 
the natural condition of the features. The Adoration is a 
face upon which the gushing tides of natural feeling have 
overflowed, till they have dissolved its natural beauty into 
a celestial radiance of loveliness too exalted for an earthly 
destiny. Then, in the mother of the growing youth, is 
seen the fullest, deepest, tenderest, maternal solicitude. In 
the church of St. Francesco, in the same town, is a Ma- 
donna with saints, by Pinturicchio, but not equal to the 
frescoes. It contains a curious letter to him from the 
Lord of Perugia (see it).* In 1503, Pinturicchio, aided 
in some degree by Rafael, and probably others of the same 
school, decorated the walls of the Libreria, at Siena, with 
historical compositions embracing a great profusion of 
figures. Rafael is known to have furnished drawings for 
two of these paintings, which are not decidedly superior to 
the others; and how closely the entire series comes to 
Rafael's general standard may be inferred from the circum- 
stance, tha<t a few years ago the whole were attributed to 
him. There is a good deal of carelessness in the execution 
of these figures, but they show clearly that the fine heads 

* The reader will readily observe by this and other indica- 
tions, as on pp. 137, 233, 236, that these pages are printed from 
a first draft, which was intended by the author to be corrected, 
enlarged, and entirely re-written. 



PERUGINO. 301 

and attitudes introduced into Rafael's Roman frescoes were 
but finished reproductions of models long before in use in 
the school of Perugino. 

The most striking display of the fine talents of the other 
members of the Perugino guild, is to be seen in the fres- 
coes of the Chapel of St. John the Baptist, adjoining the 
Sala del Cambio in Perugia, which, for the beauty, splen- 
dor and good taste of its pictorial decorations, is scarcely 
excelled by any chapel in Europe. They are executed by 
that master and several of his scholars. The date of these, 
as I was informed by the custode upon the spot, is 1500 ; 
but, although the parts executed by Perugino cannot be 
much later, it is impossible to doubt that some other por- 
tions, by his scholars, have been done after the full de- 
velopment of Rafael's style at Rome had taken place. In 
the centre of the ceiling is God the Father, in clouds, en- 
circled with cherubs' heads, and three or four little angels 
of free and graceful attitudes, playing among the clouds at 
his feet. His head is of the most elevated, pure, majestic 
type that I know of; almost an exact portrait of Bishop 
White. The drapery is also admirable. This, and a three- 
quarters figure on the altar front, are by Perugino. At the 
end, over the altar, is the baptism of Christ by St. John, 
and on one side of it, the angel making the annunciation, 
; and on the other the Virgin receiving it. These three are 
said to be by Griannicola. The angel, running, with dra- 
i pery of glowing purple, is thoroughly Rafael. It is incre- 
< dible that it should have been painted much before 1520. 
The ceiling, which is distributed into compartments, divided 
j by gilded panelings, is of a blue ground, with gold stars, 
land is painted with figures of the four evangelists, the 
j four doctors of the church, and sundry saints, connected 
| with the city. On the side-walls are four large pictures of 
the Visitation, the birth of St. John, his decollation, and 
26 



302 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

the feast of Herod ; together with reclining figures of two 
Sibyls. In several parts of the room, and under the arches, 
are beautiful arabesques, and small pictures. The four 
evangelists, and the two sibyls are ascribed, by the custode, 
to Rafael. The heads have much of his quality j but, in the 
figures and limbs of each, there is some one or more great 
fault in drawing, which makes it obvious that Rafael had 
no hand in it. The head of St. John the Evangelist, and 
those of the Sibyls, are so entirely of his style as to render 
it clear that several Rafaels in Europe may well be by the 
artist who executed these. Many of the heads are of his 
finest Greek type. The gilding of the panelings of the 
ceiling has been restored ; but the paintings are in excel- 
lent preservation. They have never been engraved, but per- 
sons are now copying them for the purpose of translating 
them by the burin to that form. 

It is impossible to view the various works of Perugino, 
of Pinturichio, and others of his followers, without per- 
ceiving that many of those ideas of beauty, grace and ex- 
pression, which we connect with Rafael's name, are the 
joint property of a school of Perugino' s followers. Rafael 
evolved to perfection the idea of Peruginism, which also 
the master and his other pupils more or less successfully 
developed : and the ancient Greek statuary was fully com- 
prehended and plentifully wrought, as the type of this 
school, before and apart from Rafael. He unquestionably 
reacted most powerfully upon the whole school ) but, still, 
Rafaelism, in art, was an idea in commission and transmis- 
sion among several. 



RAFAEL. 303 



RAFAEL. 

If vastness of intellectual and moral thought, communi- 
cated through forms of patriarchal grandeur, and with a 
power as " gentle," yet as extending and as resistless as 
" the morning light," constitute the characteristic of Mi- 
chael Angelo, the name of Rafael calls up to our recollec- 
tion a family of angelic shapes, in which beauty is super- 
induced upon grandeur, and dignity melts into consummate 
grace ; which are illuminated by imagination and tinged 
by the hues of sentiment. Michael Angelo is an illustrator 
j of powerful thoughts; Rafael a creator of perfect forms. 
! In one, the abstract and mental purpose is so supreme, ab- 
sorbing and intense, that all primary and independent con- 
sideration of the figures that express it is lost; as, in the 
| glow of poetry we note not severally the syllables which 
< convey the fire. The other labored, by the perfecting and 
i beautifying of natural forms, to communicate those senti- 
ments which are indwelling in beauty, grace and the ima- 
ginative perfections of personal forms. The mind is the 
: realm of Michael Angelo's dominion; and hence he enjoys 
a prodigious fame, but a meagre popularity. The senti- 
| ments are the circle of Rafael's enchantments, more con- 
formably, perhaps, to the true character of art; and, there- 
j fore, his popularity is as universal as his fame. But the 
i sentiments which engaged his genius were the most digni- 
fied that our nature and life evolve; oftentimes divine. 
( Nay, he succeeded in investing intelligence itself with the 
\ grace and character of sentiment, and could incarnate the 
J highest conceptions of divinity in visible beauty. Per- 
! haps, therefore, it is not that he is less earnestly a thinker 
and a teacher than Michael Angelo, but, only that he is 



304 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

more effectually an artist. He gives personality to sanctity 
and truth, and readies and cleanses the soul through the 
imagination and the heart. If Michael Angelo is the pro- 
phet of the Old covenant, to drive men from evil by terrors, 
Kafael is the apostle of the New, to win them to the love- 
liness of virtue. Nature was the home of his genius ; the 
channel, if not the source of his inspirations. If his 
burning inspirations often transfigure nature with an ethe- 
real splendor, he returns, with constant love, to its repose 
and simplicity ; and sometimes sacrificed a higher praise in 
his too faithful rendering of the character of reality. 

The peculiar purpose of Rafael's inspiration, as an artist, 
was to interpret between nature and spirituality, and to 
conciliate them into union, in the radiant truthfulness of 
his heaven-breathing forms. To develope and demonstrate 
the spiritualism of nature seems to have been the intellec- 
tual instinct of his deep-divining soul. He loves to ex- 
plain the mysteries of divinity to us as the only, the pos- 
sible perfections of human life, purified and raised by so- 
cial affections, and chaste meditations or severe thought. 
His works seem to be founded on the view that the divinity 
of the Saviour and his saints was not merely a special and 
extraordinary fact, but also the revelation and illustration 
of a restoration capable of being developed even out 
of fallen humanity ; that religion is the permanent realiza- 
tion of Deity made known "in the flesh/' the mani- 
festation of " God with us." Never was there an artist of 
such intense spiritual sensibility, whose imagination repro- 
duced natural forms with such unperverted truth — such 
genuine tone. Generally, in such cases, the morbid meta- 
physical power of the feelings re-acts upon the imagined 
form so powerfully as to pinch and bend its shapes into stiff 
and narrow types, half-conventional in their meaning. But 
Rafael's imagination acted with perfect fearlessness and 



RAFAEL. 305 

freedom, to bring the form up to its highest inherent 
excellence ; and, in that state, his genius seemed to bap- 
tize it with a luminous suffusion of spirituality with which 
it shines forever. Some painters, such as Fra Beato, may 
represent a more strenuous and high-raised spirituality than 
Rafael : others, such as Titian, may give us a more forcible 
and real representation of nature : the special and lovely 
greatness of Rafael is, that his works present the greatest 
degree of spirituality that was ever inspired in forms so 
glowingly instinctive with the sympathies of nature. 

It is as the painter of the Madonna that Rafael is known 
to the admiration and affections of the whole world ; and 
the variety, not of style and composition, but of purpose 
and sentiment, which he has exhibited under that notion, 
is remarkable. His Madonnas may be distributed into 
three distinct classes. First, those in which the Madonna 
is the representative, simply, of motherhood ; and typifies 
only the natural sanctity of woman, in her relation to her 
first-born. In other words, the representation of the hu- 
man mother and her human child is taken as the symbol 
of the peculiar divinity of the Madonna and Infant. The 
second may be called the Historical Madonna ; giving us a 
view of what might have been the actual of the divine in- 
fant ; sometimes with Joseph and Anna ) sometimes with 
neither. The third class is the Spiritual and Divine Ma- 
donna, viewed in her permanent, ecclesiastical and doctri- 
nal character, and generally in glory. 

The first of these conceptions of the Madonna has a 
more profound and moral significance than at first might 
be supposed. It proceeds upon the feeling that woman- 
hood, seen in the purity of its holiest function as mother, 
has in it a ray of divineness fit to make it the symbol of 
the Blessed and her Christ. In view of the suggestion 
that the Catholic worship of the Virgin Mother is but an 

26* 



306 



REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 



instinct, or recognition, of an inherent divineness in huma- 
nity, insphered in woman, this peculiar class of Rafael's 
Madonnas proceed upon a deeper philosophy than a casual 
glance might detect. 

To this class belongs the charming mother and child, in 
the Berlin gallery, No. 248, known as the Madonna di (?) 
Casa Calonna. In this extremely beautiful picture, the 
color of which, though now faded, seems once to have been 
brilliant, the child is held on the mother's knee, in a some- 
what struggling attitude, and has his left hand upon the top 
of her dress near her neck, his right upon her shoulder. His 
face is that of a child only, with nothing of divinity ; her's 
is the countenance of a merely human mother. Her hair 
is reddish, in the Venetian manner; a suggestion which 
Rafael may have derived from Perugino's Madonna in the 
Manfrini gallery. 

Another of this style is the Madonna della Casa Tempi, 
now in the Pinacothek at Munich, cabinet xix., No. 6031. 
In this admirable picture, the color of which also seems 
faded, the mother, standing, holds up the child's head 
against her face, and presses him earnestly to her breast 
in almost an ecstasy of maternal emotion. In these we 
have the mother and child only; and, judging from en- 
gravings, there are several other of his Madonnas with the 
infant, which are altogether similar to these two in charac- 
ter. But there is another branch of this class in which 
the infant St. John appears ; and, in accordance with the 
general design, merely under the type of an ordinary in- 
fant. He frequently bears the cross, indeed, but that is 
only a traditionary mark, like the arrow in St. Sebastian, 
to indicate what character he represents. But with the 
exception of some conventional sign of that kind, which, in 
the case of the Virgin, may be a gilded ring around the 
head, there is in these works nothing in expression or atti- 



RAFAEL. 307 

tude to denote that the woman is other than an ordinary 
mother, — that one of the children is a god, and the other 
his herald. There is nothing of consciousness, either, in 
respect to their own divine character or that of the others, 
in the faces or positions of any of the persons. St. John, 
however, is represented in a somewhat subordinate and se- 
condary, or attendant position : as standing and looking at 
the Saviour, who is seated on the mother's knees, or as 
bringing something to amuse him. The design of the ar- 
tist being to generalize the relation of the Saviour and St. 
John into a representation of an ordinary scene in human 
life, where the superior nature is attended or aided by an 
elder but humbler promoter. 

Of this class is the Madonna del Cardonella, in the Tri- 
bune, a work of mild yet exquisite beauty. The mother, 
arrayed in a red tunic and blue robe, is seated, holding a 
book. A heavenly radiance seems to settle and rest on 
her head and brow. The Saviour, standing between her 
knees, extends his arm with a somewhat lofty air, to take 
a goldfinch which St. John, whom the Virgin encircles 
with her arm, brings to the other with great satisfaction. 
In this simple, delicate, vigorous little work, everything in 
the heads and expressions is purely natural. [Passeggio 
same class — Madonna della Segiola of same class.] 

There are some Madonnas of this class, in which Joseph 
appears alone with the mother and infant, and the group 
forms a symbol of the sanctity of the child and mother in 
the family relation. Others in which St. John is added to 
the composition ; as in the Repose in Egypt, in the Belvi- 
dere gallery at Vienna, where the infant St. John humbly 
offers some fruits in his lap, which the mother holds the 
Saviour down to take, while Joseph grasps St. John by 
the arm to raise him up. Sometimes Elizabeth appears in- 
stead of Joseph. 



308 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

In those representations of the subject, which may be 
called historical, or actual, the parties appear in their real 
and peculiar characters, conscious of themselves, and re- 
cognizing one another. The principal infant is obviously 
a divine being, and so is felt to be none other than the 
One Incarnate. The other, also, is the St. John Baptistes 
of the Gospel, enlightened by an inspired recognition of 
his master, and exercising his mission of pointing him out, 
or yielding adoringly to his higher sanctity. 

Sometimes, in these, we have the infants alone with the 
Virgin; as when she reveals the Saviour to the young St. 
John. In the small, but exquisitely pure and pearl-like 
group in the Louvre (No. 418), called the Vierge au Linge, 
of which there are repetitions, the mother lifts *the veil 
from her slumbering offspring, to show him to the son of 
Elizabeth. In that picture, the infant lies profoundly and 
richly asleep ; a celestial softness of atmosphere is about 
his brow and eyes. The infant St. John kneels in humble 
homage ; or, in some repetitions of it, stands and points to 
him, with earnest and decided air. The drawing of the 
sleeper's figure, which is extended, with one arm stretched 
back, is perfect. Of the Louvre illustration, the color has 
greatly faded. But most frequently, in this class, the 
Holy Family, including Joseph and Elizabeth, is repre- 
sented ; as in the Madonna del Impannata, where the holy 
child is the object of reverent solicitude to the three adult 
persons, while the little St. John, seated at the side, in all 
the solemnity of a prophet, points to him, as if he would 
say, " Behold the Lamb of God !" In the same rank is 
the popular and agreeable picture of the Holy Family, in 
the Musee Bourbon, at Naples, No. 370, sometimes called 
the Madonna col divin' Amove. The mother is seated, 
with her hands folded in adoration of her miraculous off- 
spring, who, astride of her knees, with extended arm, is 



RAFAEL. 309 

giving the divine benediction to St. John, who, bending 
upon one knee, and placing his* hand upon his breast, seems 
to supplicate it. The Virgin wears a dress of pale lake 
color, with a blue robe going over her knee. Elizabeth, 
with her withered face, is behind the infant Christ, and 
holds him with one hand. There are square pillars in the 
back-ground ; and between them, towards one side, is 
Joseph, who looks round at the group. 

The third [Wholly unfinished. In this class, of course, 
would come the Madonna di San Sisto, or Dresden Ma- 
donna.] 

In the sacristy of the church of S. Pietro de' Casinensi, 
in Perugia, is preserved a small picture of two infants : 
the Saviour and St. John, seated together on a gilded 
bench, one of them having his arms over the shoulders of 
the other. The color is pallid, but some delicate pinkish 
flesh tints still linger about the limbs. It is represented 
to be the earliest remaining work from the pencil that 
afterwards drew the Madonna di San Sisto ; and it is cha- 
racteristic of the early path in which Rafael's genius moved, 
that this should be a copy from Perugino. In the first 
room of the Borghese gallery at Rome, No. 46, there is 
an unfinished picture attributed to Rafael, which, if 
genuine, must be the work of his very early years. It 
represents Christ lying on the ground, with a cross ; St. 
John kneeling to him ; the mother also kneeling, and two 
angels with trumpets ; and is entirely Peruginesque in its 
elements and character. In the Berlin gallery there are 
three pictures of Rafael's earliest years, representing the 
mother and child. In one of them, No. 141, the child 
holds a bird; in another, No. 145, they are attended by 
St. Jerome and St. Francis j and in the third, No. 147, by 
St. John, who stands with his arms folded on his breast, 
and holding a cross. All of these have much beauty, but 



310 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

still are purely Perugian. [See Waagen's Catalogue.] 
Another work generally agreed to be Rafael's is, certainly, 
very early, and before any decided advance upon his mas- 
ter had been made by him. It hangs in the royal palace 
in Naples, and exhibits the Virgin seated on a throne, and 
two female saints beside her ; the infant is upon her knee, 
and St. John, standing, reaches to him ; on either side, in 
front, are St. Peter and St. Paul. When I first looked at 
it, I was confident that it was a work of Perugino. After 
a longer examination, one may find in the standing St. 
John a greater richness and fullness of limb than is usual 
in Perugino. His face and figure have a striking resem- 
blance to those of the infant in the Seggiola Madonna. 
The Virgin's face is full of loveliness; but most of the* 
others have precisely the puckered features of old Peru- 
gino. The heads have golden circles around them. Upon 
the whole, were one to judge from internal marks alone, 
there would be little hesitation in assigning it to Perugino 
rather than Rafael ; yet it appears to be perfectly authen- 
ticated as a work of the latter, and only proves that at that 
time he did nothing than literally re-combine the types of 
his teacher. The coronation of the Virgin, painted for the 
church of S. Francesco, at Perugia, but now in the same 
room with the Transfiguration, in the Vatican, is also al- 
most completely Perugino; and the Predella subject, in 
an adjoining room, appears, as already remarked, to have 
been imitated upon some similar works by Perugino, at 
Perugia. This is said to have been painted in 1503. To 
the same period, I think, should be referred the small 
Risen Christ, in the Galleria Tosi, now belonging to the 
city of Brescia. It is about a foot in breadth, and a foot 
and a half in height. The Saviour points with his left hand 
to the wound in his side, and with the other to heaven. 
His left hand shows a wound in the back. He wears the 



RAFAEL. 311 

crown of thorns. The figure, which is beautifully drawn, 
is given only to the middle ; and, with the exception of a 
red robe round the right shoulder, and over the base of 
the picture, is undraped. The face, and especially the 
eyes, are thoroughly Perugino. . This work has generally 
been referred to the year 1505, but appears to me too en- 
tirely a school-work to belong to the period of the frescoes 
of San Severo. The Adoration of the Kings, at Berlin, 
is so entirely effaced that it is scarcely worth while to refer 
to it. All of these works are probably anterior to 1504. 

In that year, when Rafael was twenty-one, was painted 
the Sposalizia, or Marriage of the Virgin and St. Joseph, 
now in the Brera at Milan. This might be compared to 
a transparency of Perugino through which a stronger, 
brighter, ruddier light than emanated from his mind was 
shining. There is great distinctness, brilliance and power 
in all the figures; and the work gives us a high idea of 
Rafael's genius. And yet all his merit consists in the 
more animated, spirited and master-like style in which his 
teacher's thought is represented. It is Perugino reproduced 
in the vital mirror of an imagination larger, more fervid 
and more sensitive to the Beautiful than his own. The 
The composition, with two groups on either side of the 
high priest, and an architectural design behind, with steps, 
is derived from Perugino' s Delivery of the Keys to St. 
Peter in the Sistine chapel. Several of the faces are ex- 
actly copied from Perugino' s models. There is a dryness 
about the coloring characteristic of his manner. The flesh 
tones, though clear, are pervaded by an olive tint. The 
draperies are variously and highly colored, yet have much 
severity of outline. It is impossible to point to any par- 
ticular in the type of the figures, their character, expression, 
grace or dignity, in which Rafael here displays any inven- 
tion. Yet he already renders the transmitted type with a 



312 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

grandeur, fullness and accuracy of drawing, which sur- 
passes any previous examples. And he displays one artist 
quality which gives this work, for popular effect, an im- 
mense advantage over Perugino. He has thrown a general 
light into the air behind the figures, which sets them in 
fine and most agreeable relief. This atmospheric bright- 
ness of back-ground is one of Rafael's most uniform and 
important characteristics, and he had thus early learned 
its value. The Virgin in this picture is beautiful, and the 
girl behind her has an animated and interested counte- 
nance; but Joseph looks rather tristful. 

Rafael may be considered as displaying gratefully in this 
picture, and to the highest possible advantage, the entire 
mental patrimony which he inherited as part of the school of 
Perugino ; as if he had meant the Spozalizia to show in his 
later works with what surpassing power of wing, making 
the last limit of Perugino his starting point, he could soar 
away into splendors invisible to the keen strong eye that 
taught and guided his early flights. His works in the fol- 
lowing year show the independent workings of his own 
imagination. They are not equal in grace and beauty to 
the Spozalizia : but they are far more valuable ; because 
they show that imitation had at last provoked an original 
action of the mind. There is an aspect of painfulness in 
the countenances of Rafael's works in the year 1505, which 
indicates that the sensibility of his imagination was then 
greater than its tone, and that his spirit suffered in giving 
birth to its own strong conceptions. To this period belongs 
the fresco of the Last Supper, which was discovered in 
1845, in a room in the Via Tedesca in Florence, which 
had formerly been part of the convent of St. Onofrio. On 
the border around the neck of the dress of St. Thomas, 
are the words "Rap. VRS. MDV:" and no rational doubt 
can be entertained of the authenticity of the work. A good 



RAFAEL. 313 

deal that is Peruginesque still hangs about the habit of its 
author's inind; yet the controlling outlines have an original 
character, and the expressions have a force, and an indivi- 
dualness of thought beyond the master. Some of the 
apostles look frightened; others look anxious or unhappy; 
but all the faces have a decision and intenseness that shows 
a mind determined to leave its mark in art. St. John lies 
with his head upon the table; Judas sits in front, holding 
the bag, and looking out of the picture. Some of the apos- 
tles appear to be attending to what Jesus says; others are 
eating and drinking. The name of each is painted under 
his feet. The back-ground is a tapestry of figured green. 
In a compartment above, is the Agony in the Garden, with 
small figures. In other compartments, tall slender young 
trees are painted, like those often seen in Rafael's pictures. 
Another interesting fresco partly by Rafael in this year, 
and partly by Perugino a few years later, exists at Perugia, 
in a chapel in the convent of San Severo, over the altar. 
It is of two parts. The upper, by Rafael, consists of God 
the Father, with two angels below him at the sides. Be- 
neath the Father, is the Dove, and still lower the Saviour, 
on either side of whom are three saints. On one side, be- 
ginning on the left, are St. Maurus, St. Placidus, St. Bene- 
dictus (or Severus); on the other, St. Romualdus, St. 
Benedict and St. John. The figures of God the Father 
and one of the angels are entirely effaced. The other angel 
has a freedom, force, richness, and boldness of foreshorten- 
ing, thoroughly Rafaelesque. The head of the Saviour is 
finely and beautifully drawn; and his upraised arm and 
head are quite like those in the Transfiguration. Below 
this work of Rafael, are a range of half a dozen saints by 
Perugino, the work of his extreme old age. The faces are 
feeble and vacant. Below these, on both sides, are inscrip- 
tions, one of which states that Rafael's work was painted 
27 



314 " REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

in 1505; the other, that Perugino's was painted in 1521. 
So that we here see in conjunction, one of the earliest of 
the pupil's and the latest of the master's productions. It 
is probable that the Last Supper was executed earlier than 
this work at San Severo ; as Rafael was at Florence in the 
end of 1504 and beginning of 1505. 

In this year, also, are said to have been painted the two 
portraits of a man and woman of the Doni family now in 
the Pitti gallery, No. 59 and 61 of the Hall of Apollo. 
The former is the better of the two; but both are stiff and 
hard; still they have immature touches of those qualities 
of outline and color which afterwards grew into the necta- 
rine-richness of Rafael's forms. About the same time was 
painted the portrait of Rafael by himself in the Uffizzi. 
There is in the expression something of melancholy, as of 
a spirit haunted by its own too earnest thoughts; the 
coloring has a richness that seems repressed by timidity 
or severity. 

The only picture that I am acquainted with that bears 
upon itself the date MDVI, is the Virgin and two children 
in the Belvidere gallery at Vienna, called the Virgin in 
the Meadow, No. 55 of Chambre 3. The faces of the boys 
have something of the rich expression of the Seggiola pic- 
ture. It is beautiful, yet simple and pure. It must be 
allowed that the Perugino manner is still visible in this 
work. 

In the following year, we behold another influence coming 
athwart the soul of the youthful painter, and inspiring it 
with a grandeur and strength, and upwardness of aim that 
raised him into that front rank of great painters which he 
afterwards occupied. I mean the emulation of Michael 
Angelo; the source or stimulant of all that was great in 
Rafael. The first picture in which this is unmistakeably 
shown is the Entombment; in the Borghese; No. 37 of the 



RAFAEL. 315 

second room; which bears the inscription, Raphael Urbinas 
MDVII. We here find no resemblance to Perugino. What- 
ever types may have been derived from him have been ma- 
tured into such higher grade as to make them truly origin- 
als; and this chiefly by Rafael's own independent study of 
Greek sculpture. But the predominant characteristics of 
face and attitude are derivel from Michael Angelo ; with 
whose force and daring, and grandeur, the artist's soul 
seems to have been set on fire. Both the composition and 
the coloring have great variety and force at the expense of 
harmony. The female heads are of great beauty. The 
countenance of the woman behind the Virgin who has her 
arm around her fainting form, is of uncommon loveliness. 
Altogether you see a work in which the embodying powers 
of the artist come not up to the conceptive ardor of the crea- 
tor, and which therefore has a coldness and stiffness not 
quite agreeable. But on the other hand you see an ambi- 
tion, a skill in drawing individual figures, and a pervading 
greatness, that give assurance of a speedy march of triumph 
into the highest regions. It is a prodigious advance upon 
all that Rafael had done before that time, and it belongs 
to the same order of works as the Vatican frescoes and the 
Transfiguration. 

In the following year, 1508, Rafael began the frescoes 
in the Camera della Segnatura in the Vatican, — consisting 
of Theology, or the Dispute of the Sacrament; Poetry or 
Parnassus; Philosophy or the School of Athens; and Ju- 
risprudence — which occupied three years, and were finished 
in 1511. The merit of these works consists chiefly in the 
dignity, grace, beauty, and intellectual and noble expres- 
sion in single figures. The compositions are somewhat 
cold, lifeless and heavy. The worst in that respect is 
Theology, and the best the School of Athens. But as 
single figures, nothing can exceed the serene and lofty 



316 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

grace of the type which here for the first time and forever 
Rafael associated with his name. It is altogether his own; 
yet he was undoubtedly led to it through the forms which 
had grown into his mind in the school of Perugino. The 
diligent study of the antique sculpture which now became 
familiar in Rome, gave variety and expansion to that sys- 
tem; and Michael contributed something in the grandeur 
of manner. Yet from whatever sources suggested and 
supplied, the forms, in their final issue, have an absolute 
unity, originality, and character. 

The year 1511 (?) was marked by an event memorable 
in the history of Art, and of the development of Rafael's 
genius, — the throwing open to the public of Michael An- 
gelo's frescoes in the Sistine chapel. The first impression 
seems to have overset Rafael altogether: and in the figure 
of Isaiah in the Church of S. Agostino at Rome, he appears 
to have forgotten all confidence in his own native inspira- 
tion, and to have produced little else than a caricature of 
the mighty Florentine's manner. Subsequently, he learned 
to make the true use of Michael Angelo's great example ; 
in catching the sentiment which it breathes, and qualify- 
ing and advancing his own characteristic style by feeding his 
spirit upon the atmosphere of grandeur and high thoughtful- 
ness which the Sistine frescoes exhale. The Expulsion of 
Heliodorus, in the Stanza of that name in the Vatican is, 
in parts at least, the most vivid, single and powerful com- 
position that Rafael ever produced. The group that sweep 
the desecrator from the fane, seem launched with swiftness 
from the altar of the Lord; instant as lightning, the rush 
of vengeance springs upon the offender, and he is over- 
whelmed in^the whirlwind of indignation. That group 
cannot be called an imitation of Michael Angelo. It is 
altogether original and Rafaelesque, and may be considered 
as an evidence that Rafael when provoked by an exalting 



RAFAEL. 317 

emulation, could develop from his own genius, qualities fit to 
be mated against the august master of power. In some other 
parts of the fresco there is some adoption of Michael An- 
gelo's manner of twisting the figure, which does not here 
produce that impression of power which it does in the Flo- 
rentine. 

In this year of 1512, Rafael's genius seems to have 
been deepened into a sensibility to beauty, exceeding any 
thing he had displayed before ; and perhaps a little too mor- 
bid for the purity and dignity of perfect art. It may be ob- 
served, in particular, that the sentiment and faculty of color, 
at this period, became developed in him with almost exces- 
sive energy; and much exceeding both earlier and later mani- 
festations. This might, by some, be attributed to an effort 
to educate his powers in a different direction from that 
which characterized Michael Angelo, and to excel in a de- 
partment in which that master was notoriously deficient : 
or, by others, to his having caught a sympathy with the 
Venetian school, of which there are other traces in some of 
his works. But it may most reasonably be referred to the 

i temporary condition of his mental faculties in the co-progress 
of their changeful and comprehensive development. Color 

j is a mental or cerebral faculty ; intimately allied with the 
general state of the intellectual qualities, or, perhaps, re- 

| suiting from them; and, probably, Rafael's organization 

; was, at this time, in that condition of sensuous spiritualism 

| of which color is a natural accompaniment and exponent. 

1 The Madonna di Fuligno, which bears the date 1512, may 
be referred to as an evidence of the somewhat morbid 

\ hyper-susceptibility of Rafael's imagination in that year. 
The figures show an intensity of conception that is not 
quite healthy. 

One of the works which belongs to this period is the 
lovely Fornarina of the Tribune, which, in fact, bears upon 

27* 



318 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

it the date 1512. It is the face of a most beautiful woman. 
She is fully and carefully dressed ; with ear-rings, a finger- 
ring, and a gold chain passing round her neck, and coming 
to the top of her dress. But the small, thin curl of a few 
hairs, hanging loosely over her forehead and cheek, is a 
grace of Nature truly Rafaelesque. Off one shoulder 
hangs a panther skin, which is held by her hand. The 
rich, warm, " purple light of love" hangs voluptuously 
over the picture. The whites of her dress are yellowish, 
and the harmony of all the coloring is admirable. It may 
be observed, that in the Pitti gallery, (No. 245,) is a por- 
trait, by some ascribed to Rafael, but called in the cata- 
logue, Anonymous. It is obviously the same head ; and 
it has the same peculiarity of a slight curl coming down 
loose over the face. The coloring and drapery are not like 
Raphael, being more broken, ragged and intricate than is 
usual with him. I am by no means sure that the Eornarina 
of the Barberini palace at Rome, does not represent the 
same woman, in later years, for, though very differently 
conceived by the painter, the character of the faces are 
much the same. The one has the poetry of a female face, 
beaming with the inspiration of full dress, and further 
idealized perhaps by youthful love : the other is the prose 
of a figure, which age and custom have worn, and which is 
seen en deshabille, in the light of mere actuality. If the 
latter be really by Rafael, it is in his later years, when he 
had fallen into that literal style, of which we shall speak 
elsewhere. It is precisely such a face as you see at this 
hour, among the Roman women of the lower order. But 
its having the word " Rafael" on the arm is, perhaps, not 
so conclusive of its authorship, since a repetition of it in 
the Borghese, confessedly by Gruilio Romano, copies the 
same word. It must be allowed to have something of the 



RAFAEL. 319 

metallic style of Guilio, who, perhaps, put the name there 
to denote the subject, not the author. 

As a pendant to the Tribune Fornarina, may be men- 
tioned the exquisite portrait of Bindo Altoviti, now at 
Munich ; formerly called a portrait of Rafael. It is on a green 
ground, and has a wonderfully life-like and yet ideal look. 
The coloring has the freshness and softness of a picture fin- 
ished yesterday. Of the same luxurious coloring is the 
Repose in Egypt, in the Belvidere at Vienna, Chamber 3, No. 
53. The richness, depth, warmth and lustre of the tones are 
as delightful as, to one accustomed to Rafael's earlier and 
ordinary manner, they must be surprising. Nothing, in all 
respects, can be more remote from the cold purity of his 
youthful manner, or the rather dry delicacy of his later 
years, than this. The forms and attitudes of the children 
are admirable. It gives one quite a new impression of 
Rafael. * In the Esterhazy gallery, in the same place, 
(No. 56, Salle 10,) is a picture, formerly called a portrait 
of Rafael, by Perugino, but confidently stated to be a por- 
trait of the Due de Urbino, by Rafael. It is of a very 
bright, airy color ; and the features seem to have the illu- 
mination and quiver of nervous life. 

There are a few pictures of Rafael in which one sees a 
predominance of yellow tone, which was much used by 
some of his followers, as may be seen in the Loggie of the 
Vatican. It is probable that these were partly executed 
by Rafael, and were colored by some of his pupils. Of 
this class is the Saint Cecilia in the Bologna gallery, (No. 

* Very similar in manner is a Rafael in the gallery at Par- 
ma, called the . The landscape strongly resembles that 

of the Repose in Egypt, in Vienna : so do the high plum co- 
lored tents. The face of the Saviour resembles that of the 
infant in the San Sisto. Its authenticity has been doubted ; 
and it has been ascribed to some of his pupils ; but I take it 
to be genuine. 



320 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

132,) which appears not to have been completed till some 
years after it was commenced. If we suppose it taken up 
in an unfinished state by one of his pupils, and- colored, 
we shall be able to account for the heaviness of expression 
which is now felt to be unsatisfactory in a work where the 
conception and composition are able. Of the same order 
is the Madonna del Passegio, (No. 278,) of the Naples 
Museum, where the Mother, standing, holds the Saviour, 
to whom the infant John presses closely to kiss. Joseph, 
who is walking away, in the back ground, turns his head 
round. He has a yellow dress, and white streaming hair 
and beard, as seen in some of the figures of the Loggie, 
and often adopted by Rafael's followers. It is a small and 
slight picture, and yet has some marks of genuineness. 
We might plausibly conjecture that this was drawn by 
Rafael at an early period, and afterwards colored by some 
scholar. 

There is a class of portraits by Rafael, at a somewhat 
later period, in which, either from an excessive devotion to 
the Venitian materialistic manner, or from his own cha- 
racteristic tendency to nature gaining too great an ascen- 
dency over his idealizing powers, he fell into a style which 
seems to aim at nothing more than illusory transcription of 
physical forms. These are, to me, not pleasing works. 
There is, one* might almost say, a cannibalism of materi- 
ality, which goes below Rembrandt, and indicates a false 
view of Art that seems inexplicable in Rafael. The most 
marked of these is the picture of Leo X. and two cardinals, 
in the Pitti gallery, (No. 63,) of which there is a repeti- 
tion or a copy in a gallery at Naples, (No. 371.) The 
Pope, with a book in his hand, sits at a table, on which is 
a bell. The bell and the figures of the table-cloth are 
given with a deceptive literality of imitation that would 
have made the reputation of a Dutch painter. The figures 



RAFAEL. 321 

have a heavy, unrelieved, beef-like solidity, that belongs 
to no high school of painting. The Pitti also contains a 
portrait of Cardinal Bibbiena, (No. 176,) which, though 
brilliant, is hard and cold; and one of Inghirami, (No. 
171,) which is dry and stony, though clear. Of the same 
general class is the portrait of a Cardinal in the Leuchten- 
berg gallery, at Munich, (No. 39,) the effect of which is 
massive, but too material. The countenance is a rich and 
ripe one, strong but without effort or stare. The white, 
soft beard falls over a red dress, delicately painted. The 
coloring is solid and pure : the high colored robe over the 
dress, the red cap, and the drapery, generally, has too 
decided an illusory effect to be satisfactory. This material 
I style of portraiture 

[Here this Essay upon Rafael, which, as has been already 

said, was left by its author in a state obviously intended for 

I revision and exfoliation, terminates abruptly. On some loose 

i pieces of paper are found some further, but disconnected, re- 

l marks, as follows :] 

The inclination of Rafael's genius, it may, perhaps, be 
i said with truth, was not to invention but to perfection. 
And that is not only the highest, but the true characteristic 
i and the normal action of Genius. In Art, perfecting is the 
: genuine method of creating. Art does not consist in re- 
presenting forms ; it consists in causing forms to represent 
| thoughts, sentiments, emotions. He who merely transfers 
| to canvass a shape from nature or his own fancy, has done 
1 but little that would not have been accomplished if the 
| image had been allowed to remain where it existed before. 
•, But he who ideals this form ; who exalts it into the gran- 

| deur and beauty of a higher expressiveness by 

It would be extremely untrue to say, that Rafael was 

' not a great master in composition, for he has left to Art 

the most perfect examples of composition which it possesses ; 



322 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

and in the department of Compositions of Acfton, lie passes 
all rivalry and all imitation. 

Yet it may be said, that his pictures are more often de- 
fective in composition than in any thing else. Those large 
pictures which exhibit compositions in iepose ; ^often fail in 
that particular, apparently on account of the excessive in- 
tensity with which single figures or separate groups in the 
whole piece are conceived; each having, as it were, its own 
focus of power, and not being subordinated to a controlling 
organization of the whole. It seems as if nothing else 
than an earnest, impetuous action in the whole combina- 
tion of figures, could furnish a medium potent enough to 
absorb and melt down the strenuous individualness of his 
separate conceptions of them. He is, therefore, »of compo- 
sitions of action, the greatest master that existed ; but it is 
in statical compositions that the least successful displays 
of his power are to be found. If we ever feel a want in 
viewing Rafael — if the vague suspicion of failure ever oc- 
curred to us in that ever glorious presence ; it would be in 
reference to works of that character. 

And here we see the diversity which he was able to 
create between his sphere and Michael Angelo's. He 
disdained to imitate the great Florentine, or to cope with 
him in a style which he had created ; his resources were 
adequate to the creation of a new method, style and man- 
ner of greatness ; a new realm of grandeur which might 
be set beside the elder world of the other, for the indepen- 
dent and equal admiration of mankind. 

Michael Angelo's prevailing instincts, as a sculptor, 
made him subject to the law of repose in figures and in 
compositions ; which he carried into his great compositions 
in fresco. Where an action is represented by him, the 
moment chosen is one of temporary stillness and rest ; as 
in the Vision of St. Paul and the Crucifixion of St. Peter. 



RAFAEL. 323 

He has not painted motion; the actual transition of time, 
and acts and attitudes. This is a characteristic greatness 
of Rafael, in which he has been followed by none so ably 
and decidedly as by Dominichino. The dynamics of com- 
position are the creation of Rafael. Rubens, in a later 
day, showed an energy to cope both Michael Angelo and 
Rafael in their own greatest strength. 

When the several figures were not involved in one great 
action, he felt a difficulty in combining them into one ex- 
pression; and thus occasions a defect of chiaro-scuro ; 
which seems to me to have been the greatest want of 
Rafael. His tendency to action in compositions is seen in 
his first great composition, on the Entombment in the 
Borghese. Not only is the entire procession in actual and 
hurried movement, but the several figures are in almost 
tumultuous variety and agitation. [Mention the Heliodorus.] 
Another composition of which only a fragment from his 
own hand remains, in the Cartoon of the National Gallery, 
is the Murder of the Innocents, being one of the second 
series of tapestries in the Vatican. This is of matchless 
excellence. Here the divergencies of many individual 
impulses of terror and ferocity are brought to a common 
centre of unity the most complete. A prodigious variety 
in the attitudes and conditions of the several struggling 
sets, is made to tend to one exclusive and irresistible effect. 
The moral impression has an entireness and force that 
never were exceeded. The interest of violent contest is 
still at breathless height, yet you see that such is the posi- 
tion of each murderer in relation to each infant, that the 
destruction of each^Innocent is inevitable. No backward- 
working hope or possibility of escape conflicts against the 
concentrated expression of certain doom, that every line of 
the action combines to form. The discordant cries of the 
group come to our ears, blended into one piercing shriek 



324 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

of childless motherhood. Gruido (and Poussin?) have 
represented this scene ; hut the forces of their canvass are 
divided and scattered. The Deliverance of St. Peter, in a 
stanza of the Vatican, is another charming instance of a 
hurried, agitating action, treated with "beautiful delicacy 
and interest. Equally successful is the representation of 
movement in the Incendio del Borgo ; the figures of the 
men letting themselves down the wall and clinging with 
their hands to the parapet, and of the women carrying 
water with a swiftness that sends their drapery flying on 
one side and the other, produce a delightful effect in con- 
trast with the calm air of the Pope, who appears at a win- 
dow to arrest the flames with a motion of his hand. We 
readily see in this picture one of the models upon which 
Dominichino formed himself. But the Battle of the Ponte 
Molle, in the Stanza of Constantine in the Vatican, which 
was executed by Guilo Romano after Rafael's death, and 
of which a portion of the original cartoon exists in the 
Ambrosian Library at Milan, may be considered not only 
as Rafael's most difficult and greatest composition, but as 
the most masterly representation in existence of a multitu- 
dinous and complicated action reduced to distinctness and 
connectedness of impression. Several of the tapestries also 
display admirable examples of great force in motion. 

[MS. here ends abruptly. What follows in regard to cer- 
tain pictures of Rafael are lead pencil entries in a pocket jour- 
nal made on the spot. It need scarcely be added that they 
are mere notes of fact, and not even unfinished critical dis- 
quisitions.] 

Hampton Court, Wednesday, 19t7i June, 1850. — The 
celebrated cartoons of Rafael at Hampton Court are on 
paper and colored, about twelve feet broad by eight high. 
They were cut into slips about two feet wide for the con- 






RAFAEL. 325 

venience of working into tapestry ; but the parts have been 
put together again, in some instances perfectly, in others 
not well. Much of the coloring of some of them has flown. 
They are all, except two, under a strong front light, which 
is very unfavorable for seeing them. Yet their effect is 
immense. The best I think is St. Paul preaching at 
Athens. It is in the best preservation as to color and as 
to the junction of the pieces. It is worthy of Rafael. The 
company before him does not form a group, blended into 
one mass ; the distinctness with which the moral individu- 
ality of each is marked, is admirable ; you see the word in 
its effect upon each mind and heart. The working of the 
word upon each hearer is the great subject the artist has 
illustrated. The whole is combined into 
Next to it I would rate the Death of Ananias ; the action 
of the peace there is inimitable. The Miraculous Draft of 
Fishes is a noble and glorious thing, but unluckily greatly 
damaged and the colors much impaired. In the " Feed 
my Sheep," the group of Apostles is exceedingly lovely 
and beautiful. The three other cartoons pleased me less. 
As for Hampton Court, I think it could not have been 
elegant at any time, and it is now dismally gloomy. I 
should not envy a Royal Pensioner any thing — except the 
pleasure of seeing the cartoons. 
\( Dresden, 29th September, 1850. — Rafael's Madonna di 
San Sisto. This picture surpasses all my expectations. 
It is beyond criticism, because it is free from mannerism ; 
you can only characterize it by saying that it is the perfec- 
tion of the highest grace and beauty. As you gaze at it, 
it produces a concentrating and awing impression. The 
august glory of Heaven was never more powerfully dis- 
played. It is one delicious blaze of celestial, holy beauty. 
To analyze the qualities in which this great effect consists, 
to trace the methods by which so astonishing a result has 
28 



326 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 

been brought out, is quite impracticable. The greatness 
of the work lies in the majestic radiance in which the sub- 
ject presented itself to the transcendent sensibilities of the 
painter's imagination, who appears to have rendered simply 
that which he had conceived divinely. Never was the 
effect of a picture less dependent, apparently, upon any de- 
vices of execution — upon color, drawing, light, and shade, 
or composition. All the magic seems to lie in the mental 
conception of the scene. 

The peculiar interest of the mother's face seems to be 
twofold ; consisting, first, in the union of virgin girlishness 
with maturity ; and, secondly, in the charging of a human 
countenance with all the sensibility of imparted divinity. 
The whole catholic conception of motherhood superinduced 
upon the unviolated innocence of virginity, and of the mor- 
tal overshadowed and absorbed by the glory of the God- 
head, is realized in that face. The balance between all 
these is kept with consummate judgment. In reverencing 
the effulgent sanctity of the face, you are not so much 
struck with the extent to which a divine elevation has been 
attained, as by the firmness and skill with which a human 
consciousness and human sympathies have been kept. 
There is in the face a sadness wholly free from pain ; it is 
not that anxious sadness of motherhood, which Francia 
often threw into his Madonnas : it is the sadness of hu- 
manity invested with a divinity before whose infiniteness 
its nature grows almost appalled. 

The face of the child is glowing and distended, as it were, 
with the forces of an in-dwelling spirit all-God. It seems 
to be communing in an intense intercourse with the Invi- 
sible Omnipotent, and to expand in the apprehension of its 
own exalted being. It broods and kindles over the thought 
of its transcendent destiny. It fires with all the sanctity 



RAFAEL. 327 

of the Godhead, and something of its severity. It is holy 
even to sternness. 

The figure of St. Barbara combines the greatest simpli- 
city with the most delightful grace and beauty. Grandeur, 
elegance, and loveliness are combined in it with an expres- 
sion of the utmost ease and nature. 

The two angels who lean over upon the platform below, 
are, perhaps, the most remarkable and effective things in 
the whole work. They are children, and yet all heavenly. 
The face of the one whose finger is on his upper lip, seems 
fixed upon the far throne of the Infinite, in the ardent, 
bold, eager, sympathetic adoration of a spirit which par- 
takes of that which it worships. The attitude of the third 
finger resting on the upper lip, in a musing self-forgetful- 
ness, imparts an exquisite naturalness to the figure. The 
power of that countenance, which yet is thoroughly child- 
like, is truly astonishing. 

The painting of every part of this matchless work is as 
perfect as the design. The flesh seems to palpitate under 
your gaze. The clouds on which the Virgin stands are 
exquisitely beautiful. There is no doubt that the picture 
has been over-cleaned ; and the colors are, generally, paler 
than in the early days of its glory. But, unlike the Notte 
of Correggio, the characteristics of the work have not been 
destroyed, and its expression still triumphs over all the 
accidents and injuries of time. 

To describe the composition : The Virgin appears stand- 
ing on snowy clouds, and holding the infant in her arms. 
St. Sixtus, covered with a gilded vestment of his office, 
kneels on the clouds, on her right, and is pointing to some- 
thing in front. On her left, kneels St. Barbara on the 
clouds. On a platform below, the two angels lean with 
their arms. In the blue vault, behind the Virgin, are an 
innumerable throng of cherub heads, faintly indicated in 



328 REMARKS UPON PAINTERS. 






white against the blue. The whole scene is represented 
as behind a green curtain on a rod, which is withdrawn on 
both sides. The picture has a glass before it, and is on 
hinges. This great work is a proof that the higher dis- 
plays of genius and art return to nature and simplicity. 

Rome , Thursday. 13 th March, 1851. — I sat for a long 
time in front of the Transfiguration, trying to discover the 
causes why a picture which has so much that is admirable 
in it impresses me so little. After having seen it many 
times, and studied it long, I must avow that I am disap- 
pointed in the effect of the Transfiguration. The first time 
that I saw it was with a blank and total disappointment, 
from which I could not recover. On the subsequent occa- 
sions, the first impression has been similar ; and though, 
after careful examination of all its parts, I have been im- 
pressed with great admiration for the genius and skill of 
the artist, I have still always gone away unmoved, and but 
little delighted with the picture itself. The details are 
full of genius and artist power ; the combined effect is un- 
impressive. And this, I think, is characteristic of Rafael, 
and fairly illustrates the strength and weakness of his 
powers. In the drawing of the figure he was unsurpassed ; 
in the imaginative power, which conceives of a whole scene 
with unity and energy, he was weak. I find that in him 
the spirit of the particular and local predominates over that 
of the general and ensemble; but the Correggiesque power 
of fusing all the elements together in one burning whole, 
was not his. 

The division in the action and character of the picture 
strikes me as a fatal fault. After all my efforts, I cannot 
make one picture of it. It remains to me two pictures ; 
and two pictures not merely distinct and not contributing 
to one another, but inconsistent, and respectively impair- 
ing and interfering with one another. The perspective 



RAFAEL. 329 

effect appears to me to fail utterly. The chiaro-scuro is 
decidedly bad. The mountain, and the figures on it, and 
the figures above, are all very near you in the foreground. 
The same thing, in a greater degree, may be seen in the 
Madonna di Fuligno, where the Virgin has got her foot 
almost in the mouth of one of the saints. This appears to 
be a defect in Rafael's genius, arising from the want of 
vastness and vigor of imagination. The light around the 
Saviour seems quite too feeble ; the atmosphere of glory in 
which he is involved quite too thin. It also is confined to 
the Saviour, and does not fully embrace the saints with 
him. Moses is clearly seen against a tree, and against the 
natural sky, whereas they were all enveloped in cloud ; and 
there is even more occasion to wrap them in a visionary 
lustre than so to wrap the Saviour. The artist, who has 
copied the picture in mosaic, in St. Peter's, has perceived 
this, and has extended the glory so as fully to take the 
saints in. There is a want of light in the whole picture. 
The dark back-ground below, which Rafael rarely used, 
and perhaps did not know fully how to deal with, has pro- 
bably absorbed much of the lighter colors. The picture 
has grown darker by time. 'But the great excuse is, that 
it is certainly much more unfinished than we generally are 
told. The light above, I am sure, would have been greatly 
extended and strengthened. Remembering the Madonna 
at Dresden, I am especially struck with this. The ele- 
ments and details here are doubtless fine ; and I imagine 
that it is artists, studying them, who have made the great 
reputation of the picture. Its popular character would not 
be so high. 



28* 



COMTE'S PHILOSOPHY. 



[The essay which follows is an unfinished draft, found in 
Mr. Wallace's port-folio, after his death in Paris, of a letter 
which he had began to the Reverend John McClintock, D. D., 
of Carlisle, editor of the " Methodist Quarterly Review." It 
appears to be the acknowledgment of a note from Dr. McClin- 
tock to Mr. Wallace, transmitting to him a copy of that Jour- 
nal for January, 1852, and inviting his perusal of an elaborate 
and able review of M. Comte's " Cours de Philosophic Posi- 
tive," found in that number. The letter, of course, was not 
in its finished state.] 

Although the copy of the January number (for 1852) 
of the Methodist Quarterly Revieiv, which you were so 
good as to mail for me, has not come to my hands, I have 
obtained another copy of it, and read the paper on M. 
Comte's work. 

I have been much interested by the general commenda- 
tions of the book, with which it opens. They show that 
the writer is possessed of a profound, enlightened, and fear- 
less intelligence. The observations on page 21, on the 
moral imbecility of the age, — its sordid and self-idolizing 
character, — have my full sympathy. The extensive and 
correct knowledge exhibited in the paper, and the great 
superiority to the narrow and vicious metaphysics of the 
time and country, have surprised me with the utmost plea- 
sure. Your note to me gave the impression that you your- 



332 comte' s phisosophy. 

self were not the writer ; but however that may be, I beg 
to be allowed to express, through you, and to you — as the 
fact of authorship may be — my cordial respect and thanks 
for the contribution to public literature of so able and im- 
portant a paper. 

Nevertheless, I must be excused for saying that I cannot 
quite accept the article as a satisfactory philosophical esti- 
mate of the Positive System as displayed by M. Comte. 

The pervading error of your critic's views, — his consi- 
dering that scientific forms and methods are of limited ap- 
plication to the objects of human interest and knowledge, 
and that there is a class of things which lie beyond the 
domain of science, — springs from his not having fully con- 
sidered the law of the hierarchy of the sciences ; which I 
look upon as the most important truth which M. Comte 
has conceived, — the very core truth of the system of Posi- 
tive Philosophy. Bacon undoubtedly contemplated, in 
prophetic vision, the application of the inductive method 
to morals; Descartes, however, pushing the conquests of 
exact method up to the very limits which separate the ex- 
ternal and material from the mental, undertook there to set 
up the Pillars of Hercules, and to say that the great ocean 
of subjective consciousness which lay beyond was never to 
be traversed by science. Comte, taking not so much an 
opposing as a more profound view, which supersedes the 
partial view of the other, affirms that mental and moral 
subjects are capable of being embraced and analyzed by 
science; but under this qualification, that science must 
assume a very different character in becoming adapted to 
that class of matters from what it had in lower and more 
limited regions. It is in this point — the rectification of 
the philosophical notion of science, the determination of 
what is the appropriate character of science as applied to 
various classes of objects — that Comte' s great contribution 



comte's philosophy. 333 

to truth consists. Philosophically considered, the law of 
the hierarchy of the sciences is the law of the successive 
modifications which the nature and character of science 
undergo in its applicability to successive ranges of pheno- 
mena. 

Had your acute and candid reviewer more carefully 
weighed this affair of the hierarchy of the sciences, he 
would have understood that science, as applied to mathe- 
matics, is an essentially different thing from science as 
adapting itself to chemistry, vitality, and society. Mathe- 
matical science has been developed so long, — chemical and 
biological so short a time 3 it was so long true that mathe- 
matical subjects were the only ones which had come under 
the domain of science, that we had all fallen into the cus- 
tom of thinking that science and mathematical science are 
the same thing; whereas, the latter is only one form and 
and variety of science, though destined always to be the 
most developed and complete. This great liberating and 
enlightening truth we owe to M. Comte ; and it is the key- 
stone of the " Cours de Philosophie Positive." 

Your critic says that he passes over the subject of the 
hierarchy, for want of space. I venture to suggest to him 
whether he has not a little too hastily passed over it in his 
own studies. Other entrance or induction, intellectually 
or morally, to the social philosophy which figures in the 
later volumes of the " Cours," than through the gradation 
of sciences, mathematical, chemical, biological, etc., framed 
in the earlier volumes, there is none. The conception of 
the mental characteristics of those sciences, and the transi- 
tion from one to a higher, constitute the indispensable in- 
tellectual preparation and training for the social part, 
which comes last. 1 consider that no man can justly ap- 
prehend the views developed in M. Comte's later volumes 
without having mastered, and assimilated into his mental 



334 comte' s philosophy. 

sense and knowledge, the preceding explications of the in- 
ferior sciences. Why did M. Comte labor through long 
years of painful toil, in the elaboration and publication of 
those preliminary generalizations upon mathematics, che- 
mistry, and organic life? The object of his study and 
teaching was, and is, Social Philosophy : but he felt the 
logical necessity of not merely stating, but illustrating 
practically the different characters and qualities of science, 
as it is addressed to different subjects, — the successive ex- 
pansion of the notion and style of scientific conception — 
truly understood, — as we come up from those phenomena, 
in which relation or reaction are only mechanical or mathe- 
matical, — first, to those in which they are according to the 
laws which we call chemical, — secondly, to those in which 
they are according to the laws of material life or organiza- 
tion, — and lastly, to those in which they are according to 
the laws called spiritual, moral, political, social. For it is 
scarcely possible for sny man to apprehend how the scien- 
tific method must be expanded and qualified in passing 
from biology (in its lower forms) to social subjects, unless 
his mind has been informed and disciplined by following 
the modification which the scientific idea underwent in 
passing from mathematical subjects to chemical, and again 
from chemical to vital. 

What is science, according to the positive conception of 
it, — which is Bacon's and Comte' s ? A knowledge of the 
laws of the relation or reaction of things. And there are 
as many different sciences, or sorts of sciences, — that is, 
sciences essentially discriminated in their manner and 
habits, — as there are in nature different modes of relation 
or reaction. M. Comte has classified these according to a 
law, which is both the law of their mental arrangement, 
and the law of their historical evolution. It proceeds from 
the more abstract, simple, and constant, to the more con- 



comte's philosophy. 335 

crete, complex, and variable. And this is the law of the 
hierarchy — which I take to be the great discovery of M. 
Comte. 

According to such a law, the first and lowest science is 
that which considers objects in their relations of number, 
quantity, extension ; or, to use the most general expres- 
sion, magnitude ; for that is the most general and perma- 
nent conception that can be abstracted from real objects. 
The laws of the relations of magnitude, or of things con- 
sidered under the notion of magnitude alone, and abstract- 
ed from everything else, is, therefore, the first science. 
This is mathematics ; which is not, as is popularly ima- 
gined, in the nature of a philosophia prima, or scientia 
scientiarum ; but is a special, definite science; the science 
of certain limited, particular considerations derived from 
the material world. The laws with which it deals are not 
mental and subjective; they are derived from observation; 
they are truly inductive : only that observation is so con- 
stant, and that induction is so easy and immediate, that 
we fall easily into an impression that those laws are intui- 
tive, whereas they are truly experimental. The axioms 
and postulates which are the basis of Euclid's Geometry, 
are not metaphysical — written on the intellect, or drawn 
out of the brain — they are only statements of laws, ob- 
served and experienced; and they have but a limited 
truth ; they are true as referring to considerations of mere 
magnitude, and to nothing beyond. When you contem- 
plate things in any other relations than those of simple 
magnitude, you have got beyond the sphere of mathe- 
matics. Mathematical science has no application to such 
things; and yet those things may have an appropriate 
science of their own. 

Ascending in the scale of relations, we come to a class 
of objects which have a relation which is not mathematical, 



336 comte's philosophy. 

but chemical. The axioms of mathematics no longer 
apply. The whole is not equal to all its parts any longer. 
If you add or subtract equals to or from equals, the sum 
or difference will not necessarily be equal any longer. We 
are in the domain of chemical reaction. Yet the chemical 
reactions of bodies have fixed laws ; and the existence and 
knowledge of those laws make chemistry a science. 

Now the great point to be noted in a philosophical view 
is this : that though chemistry is a science as veritably as 
mathematics, it is not a science of the same kind, or in the 
same sense. Scientific conception, as applied to chemistry, 
is a very different thing from scientific conception as ap- 
plied to mathematical subjects, being far less abstract; and 
scientific reasoning in chemistry is also different from scien- 
tific reasoning in mathematics, being far less logical. The 
logical part of mathematics is so immense, because the con- 
ceptions which mathematics deals with are so highly ab- 
stract. The establishment of mathematical relations or 
laws, of the lower sort, occupies but a small part of the 
science : it is the reasoning upon them which fills the 
volumes of the analysis. As we go up in the scale of 
sciences, the conceptive part, or that which is occupied in 
establishing the primary laws, becomes larger and more 
laborious, and the logical part smaller. Chemistry is a 
science, and scientific methods are applicable to it; yet it 
is not, and in its completest developments never can be, 
(to man's intellect,) capable of the simplicity and general- 
ity of mathematical conception, nor the rigor and exacti- 
tude of mathematical reasoning. 

Mounting yet higher, we come to a class of bodies which 
have .a relation or reaction, which cannot be referred to 
chemical laws, but has been called vital. As this reaction 
obviously follows laws of its own, some of which have been 
determined with more or less exactness, there has been 



comte's philosophy. 337 

founded the science of biology ; yet more concrete, special, 
indeterminate, and variable than chemistry. No one doubts 
that the physiological action of organized beings is entirely 
subject to a system of laws, — the study of which is of the 
first importance, — though they are infinitely more elusory, 
complicated, and embarrassed than those of mechanical 
relation. 

When, in the last stage, we arrive at political relations, 
with the various branches of intellectual, moral, and spi- 
ritual, the question whether these are> the subjects of posi- 
tive science depends only on the question whether there 
are laivs of social action and development. That there are 
such laws, was not for the first time suggested by M. Au- 
guste Comte. It was aflirmed, with all the dogmatism of 
inspiration, by King David, centuries ago ; and before him 
by a long line of prophets which have been since the world 
began. I need not refer you to a production known as the 
one hundred and nineteenth Psalm, to find, in every seve- 
ral verse of that sublime service of adoration, a several re- 
assertion of the establishment and eternal duration of the 
moral, spiritual, and social laws which God has founded in 
the nature of man. These are the statutes, the testimo- 
nies, the judgments, the ways, the word, the understand- 
ing, the knowledge, the wisdom for which David prayed, 
and which were revealed to his heart thousands of years 
antecedently to the time when men have begun to appre- 
hend that there are such principles, capable of being ex- 
plored and known ; and which enabled him to foretell the 
swift destruction of the wicked, and the certain, though 
deferred triumph of the righteous. That there are such 
laws, in the view of the divine mind, no religious person 
doubts. What M. Comte affirms (and he was by no means 
the first to suggest it, though the ablest in giving it a 
philosophic base and a systematic consistence) is, that 
09 



338 comte's philosophy. 

these laws are capable of being contemplated and compre- 
hended by man's mind, in more or less completeness ; at 
least, that they are worth being studied by him. He says, 
therefore, that there is a positive science of moral and po- 
litical truth. But, in accordance with the nature of the 
subject, that science will be almost indefinitely less exact 
in its premises, less certain in its processes, and less par- 
ticular and applicable in its conclusions, than the lower 
and simpler science of mathematics. Scientific conception, 
as applied to social subjects, will, perhaps, hardly ever get 
beyond some very general notion of the character of the 
laws, or some one or more of them, that preside over the 
evolution of society ; and scientific reasoning upon it will 
never pass beyond the indications or monstrations of a ra- 
tional instinct. M. Comte, I apprehend, never uttered so 
monstrous a fallacy and sciolism, as that mathematical 
science is applicable to social subjects. His four first 
volumes are written for the special purpose of proving and 
exhibiting, by a regularly ascending scale, how extremely 
remote from a mathematical character are the subjects with 
which morals and politics deal, and how alien from mathe- 
matical processes must be the mode of reasoning applied to 
them. But, fortunately, just as the certainty and distinct- 
ness of scientific [theory ?] diminishes in its ascent from 
the material to the moral, the importance and applicability 
of the least degree of scientific truth increases. In regard 
to politics, the establishment, as a probable and reliable 
principle, of the mere fact that the subject is governed by 
inherent laws, though no one of those laws should ever be 
discovered, or even remotely indicated, would be the great- 
est benefit ever conferred upon the world of a temporal 
kind ; because it would at once enable us to repel and des- 
troy the assaults of all those metaphysical sophisms — as 
that all men have equal rights — all political power right- 



comte's philosophy. 339 

fully springs only from the consent of the governed — 
which have tormented and vexed society like diseases. 
We should at once be able to say, " We cannot indeed yet 
establish the general theory of political government; we 
cannot tell the law or laws of the evolvement or construc- 
tion of government ; but as for these democratic maxims 
of the rights of man, they are clearly false and mischievous, 
because they are metaphysical, and not consistent with the 
phenomena of society as recorded in history. Those no- 
tions are clearly not the laws implanted in the social nature 
of man, because society has never obeyed them, or been 
consistent with theni." By thus paralyzing the force of the 
disorganizing elements of metaphysical axioms, upon which 
all the disturbing agencies of modern life are based, we 
should do incalculable service to the social patient; for 
though we should administer no new remedies, we should 
withdraw the sources of ailment on the one hand, and the 
appliances of false treatment on the other, and afford free 
action to the recovering powers of the social constitution. 

So much for what I suggest as one of the errors of your 
reviewer, in thinking that scientific or positive methods are 
not applicable to society ; an error into which he fell, from 
not sufficiently attending to M. Comte's scale or hierarchy 
of sciences. 

I think, also, that he has not done full justice to M. 
Comtek law of the three successive modes of philosophizing, 
which he calls the theological, metaphysical and positive. 
It is to be considered as a law of the human mind, founded 
upon the structure of our nature ; but it has no higher 
truth than in its application to man's nature, as it has thus 
far been developed. Bacon fully established the distinc- 
tion between the metaphysical and the positive ; but the 
law of the relation and succession of the three may be con- 
sidered one of M. Comte's discoveries. I think your re- 



340 comte's philosophy. 

viewer errs in considering that theological, in this use, is 
synonymous with religious or spiritual. M. Comte's use 
of that word is not altogether appropriate ; and I agree to 
what your reviewer says, on page 31, in there being some- 
thing of unfairness and prejudice in the use of it. 

I do not understand that M. Comte explodes, as desti- 
tute of truth, the theological and metaphysical methods or 
forms of philosophy. They are just and true, according to 
their own point of view; but they contemplate different 
purposes from the positive. He does not, I think, deny, 
but admits and asserts, the co-existence of these three sys- 
tems ; not only in different minds and on different subjects, 
but also in the same mind, and on the same subject, and 
even at one time. I see no reason why, in their complete 
development, they should not all exist together. 

I cannot follow your critic's meaning when he speaks, at 
page 29, of M. Comte's " entire negation of logic and me- 
taphysics." Metaphysical processes, as applied to scien- 
tific investigation, he certainly explodes; but as to his 
denying logic, if he has ever done that, I should say that 
he must have taken leave of his sense. 

On one other small point I cannot quite agree. Your 
reviewer says, on page 21, "Lord Bacon, whom he re- 
gards, most erroneously, as the apostle of Positivism." I 
think that he was so ; unless you prefer to call him the 
inspired prophet of the system of which Comte is the en- 
lightened demonstrator. Of the positive method, as appli- 
cable to all subjects, Bacon had a perfectly true appre- 
hension. I find scarcely anything in Comte that was not 
beforehand in Bacon. But Comte, by his profound and 
perfect exposition of Positivism, has enabled us to under- 
stand much in Bacon, that without him we should proba- 
bly not have understood. In speaking thus of Bacon, 
Lord Verulam, I am, of course, aware of the circumstance 



comte's philosophy. 341 

to which Forster long ago called attention, that much of 
the doctrine of Novum Organon is to be found in the Opus 
Majus of the elder Bacon, to which also your reviewer 
alludes. 

I ought not to end without adding a word or two in re- 
spect to my position in respect to M. Comte,* and his posi- 
tion in respect to Positivism. From his Atheism I totally 
dissent. Atheism may be the accident of the individual; 
it is not a characteristic of the system. In my view, the 
positive system is a certain and universal method ; and re- 
ligion — the religion revealed to the Church and recorded 
in the inspired Scriptures — is a reality as certain as life 
itself; and the correct application of the positive method 
to the subject of religion, so far from upsetting, will verify 
and demonstrate the catholic faith. In attempting this 
application, M. Comte has altogether broken down. 

I think that I can state to you precisely the character 
and extent of M. Comte' s intellectual merit, and draw the 
line within which he is an oracle, and beyond which he is 
a babbler. 

It is almost a law of man's intelligence, that abstract 
and logical reasoning is a different sort of mind, or an 
opposite mode of application, from special and practical 
sagacity in the investigation; that they are distinct facul- 
ties or reversed actions of the intellect; and that a person 
is gifted with immense perfection in one of these ways 
only under the condition of becoming thereby incapacitated 

* This eminent philosopher in his Preface to the second 
volume of his Systeme de Politique Positive, had published as 
an Appendix to his Preface a copy of a letter of his to the 
Kev. John McClintock, D. D., in which Mr. Wallace's name was 
thus mentioned, "Toutefois je desire que vous daignez consulter 
d'abord a cet egard, 1' eminent citoyen de Philadelphie, qui 
est aujourd'hui devenu mon principal patron temporel, sans 
cesser detre mon noble client spirituel, M. Horace Binney 
"Wallace, assez connu pour n'exiger aucune autre indication." 

29* 



342 comte's philosophy. 

in a corresponding degree as to the other. Thus it was 
with Bacon. After apprehending and defining with in- 
fallible justness the true method of investigation and dis- 
covery, and foretelling with accuracy the results that would 
follow from employing it — after himself fashioning the in- 
strument, and explaining precisely how it was to be dealt 
with — when he attempted himself to apply it in particular 
use, as in his collections in natural history, he fell into 
fooleries the most inconceivable. He seems not to have 
been in the least degree competent to conduct the operation 
of the machine which he had invented. M. Comte's failure 
is not greater than Bacon's, and is quite analogous to it. 
When he generalizes, philosophizes, and systematizes — 
when he reasons upon what has been done, determines 
upon what principles it has been done, and thence points 
out what ought henceforth to be done, we are astonished 
by his piercing analysis, his all-comprehending wisdom. 
When he attempts to apply his own method to the explor- 
ation and establishment of truth in a new department, he 
exposes himself. The " Cours de Philosophic Positive" is 
a monument of his prodigious powers in an abstract and 
analytic way : the " Systeme de Politique Positive," in its 
bearing upon religion, an equally significant measure of his 
puny capacity as an original investigator. In applying 
Positivism to spiritual matters, he proceeds in a style di- 
rectly repugnant to all his principles and teachings. He 
sets out by stultifying history, and the experience of forty 
centuries, and sets up the metaphysical contrivances of his 
own brain in opposition to the collective and traditionary 
sense of the race. The attempts of M. Littre and the 
Republique Occidentale, to make an application of the 
positive method to politics, are equally distressiug. Those 
synthetic suggestions toward a so-called reconstruction of 
society exhibit a complete departure from the principles of 



comte's philosophy. 343 

the positive method. M. Comte thinks that Positivism is 
Atheistic. M. Littre thinks that it is republican or radical. 
I agree with neither. I am a conservative of the conserva- 
tives : and it is upon the positive system, as applied to 
morals and politics, that I found my confidence in the 
ultimate triumph of sound principles. 

M. Comte' s writings are of inestimable value to those 
who know how to use what is valuable in them ; dangerous 
to un discriminating minds. To derive the fullest benefit 
from him, we must try him severely and judge him fear- 
lessly. As a guide in regard to the philosophy of philo- 
sophy, he is the most enlightened that has appeared since 
Bacon. I cannot speak of him but in terms of enthusiastic 
reverence. He is an object of boundless admiration and 
gratitude to me. But at a certain point his inspiration 
stops. His illumination extends only through a certain 
department; beyond it he sees less than the dullest; like 
the son of Balak, whose common sight was darkened as 
much as the eyes of his mind were open, who, when he 
stood upon the mountain-rock, foresaw the advent of Mes- 
siah and foreknew the countless hosts of the spiritual Is- 
rael, yet upon the road thither, pushed against the armed 
angel of the Lord, more blindly than the ass he bestrode. 

We have abundant means of judging M. Comte. He 
was not the discoverer of the Positive Method ; nor is he 
the highest authority in respect to its characteristics. He 
was not the first to apply it either to science, or to politics, 
or to theology. It had been brought to bear upon history, 
religion and social subjects before he appeared; and with 
results eminently conservative and satisfactory. A student 
of Bacon, and of those great men who after him had taken 
up and extended the inductive method, I was myself en- 
gaged in applying it to politics, morals and spirituality, 
before I heard of Comte. From the perusal of his works I 



344 comte' s philosophy. 

have derived immeasurable benefit; but when he comes to 
fit his method to spiritual affairs, he ciphers entirely, and 
I proceed without him upon my own original and inde- 
pendent course. As I consider that the religious bearings 
of Positivism ought to be brought right, before it is intro- 
duced to the public, I have been long endeavoring to elabo- 
rate that part of the task, and to rectify M. Comte' s aber- 
rations in respect to it. I think myself able to contribute 
some slight suggestions toward founding the true positive 
conceptions of the religious subject, and developing it de- 
monstratively; and as the results thus arrived at will be 
found identical with the system of the Church, both in 
doctrine and in operation, it will follow that the Scripture 
system was a true revelation. The time is not distant 
when Christianity will rely entirely upon the positive phi- 
losophy for its argumentative support. That philosophy is 
destined to furnish the demonstration of the Christian 
truth, and thereby to convert the world. 

As I look upon the positive system, also, as affording 
the only protection in politics against the disorganizing 
maxims and passions of the revolutionary and destructive 
parties of the day, I have thought it most important to 
present the political bearings of this system in a complete 
and satisfactory way. I have, therefore, occupied myself 
for some time upon a history of political philosophy, which 
I shall perhaps complete in the form of a report to the 
Smithsonian Institute. I desire therein to trace the rise 
and operation, and failure of all the metaphysical systems, 
and the rise and partial developments, and imperfect ap- 
prehension of it down to the present day. The positive 
philosophy, as applied to politics, has been used by many 
before Comte; most of all by Burke, whose mind was im- 
bued with it in a concrete way, and who always reasons 
according to it. M. Comte taught us the true philosophy 



345 

of that philosophy : he estimated and analyzed the method; 
but the method was in use before him, not only by Burke, 
but by Montesquieu, Macchiavelli, and, greatest of all, the 
half-inspired Vico. 

For my own part, though for years I have been familiar 
with the Cours de Philosophie Positive, I have never cared 
to see it introduced to the public. Your article, I think, 
will do no harm, for nobody will understand what it is all 
about. My own feeling has been that Comte can never 
find an audience in the public. His teachings will act on 
the world only mediately; through the writings of men 
who catching his inspiration will bring it to bear practi- 
cally on the mass. The system is not yet completed. It 
requires much more labor. The mob of literateurs in this 
country, what can they contribute to the completion of 
such a scheme? I dread the thing's becoming known, by a 
few catch-words to the editorial mind of the country — which 
catches up some foolish phase of truth " whisks it about 
and down it goes again/ ' — after being rendered disgust- 
ing to all quiet and thoughtful people. Let the people 
stand out of the way, until the positive development of 
morals and politics is complete ; and then let it be brought 
before them, not as a thing to speculate about, or dogmat- 
ize about — but to receive, and to submit to as they do to 
the teachings of the mathematician and the chemist. Be- 
sides this, until the positive scheme can be shown as a 
scheme tending to and ending in religion, identical with 
revealed religion, the public knowledge of it will only tend 
to evil. The old distinctions between the esoteric and 
exoteric communication — the catholic doctrine of the re- 
serve of truth — however liable to abuse in the applica- 
tion — are founded in nature and true philosophy, and in a 
corrected form are of constant operation. [MS. unfinished.] 



ERRATUM. 

The following sentence belongs on page 310, second 
line from the top, and was inadvertently omitted : 

The portrait of a Florentine lady in the Tribune must 
be referred to a period when Rafael, in his earliest manner, 
was yet far short of his masters excellence. It is hard, 
flat and dull. The face is melancholy and the hands 
brown; the drawing of the figure pinched and timid. The 
catalogue says that it is painted in the style of Leonardo. 
It has that stiffness and confinement which some of his 
pictures show, but not the expression which they all have. 
It might be taken for an early work of Francesco Francia. 



THE END. 



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